Captured
by Limmet
Summary: AU. Jazz, a Decepticon spy, is sent to infiltrate the Ark. However, the mission fails and he is taken prisoner by Prowl. Now Jazz has to face the fear of what the future has in store for him as the Autobots' captive. Eventual Prowl/Jazz. REVISED VERSION.
1. Chapter 1

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically. **

**First chapter has been left relatively untouched, but larger changes be a-coming soon. **

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

Jazz silently crouched behind the big rocks just outside the Ark, the Autobot head quarter. He kept telling himself that there really was no need for the adamant carefulness or the feeling of vague uneasiness that had settled into his processors – the Autobots were all out on some patrol mission or the other. That had at least been the main gist of the status report that Soundwave had briefed Megatron on, before Jazz had been sent out on his mission.

And the instructions had been uncomplicated enough: While the Autobots are away, get inside their base, plant the tiny Soundwave-made bugging device in the Ark main room, and get out. Couldn't get much simpler now, could it? At least, that was what he tried telling himself. And as a Decepticon spy and saboteur he had been involved in much riskier missions than this, hadn't he? Not to mention the more imminent danger of all the battles he had faced during his long years as Megatron's soldier.

Still, he didn't quite consider himself the typical warrior type like so many of the other 'Cons. Of course there was no way to avoid fighting if you were a Decepticon; it was expected that you were a competent warrior who could handle yourself in battle. Megatron certainly had no patience or tolerance for cowardly weaklings. But as much as Megatron prized fighting ability, Jazz still preferred going on the sort of covert spying or reconnaissance operations that he often would get specially selected for.

The rush one would get from sneaking into Autobot territory, right into the enemy's lair, was something much more appealing than running around trying as best as one could to avoid getting a laser beam right in one's chassis, while at the same time shooting at anything that moved that didn't happen to be wearing the Decepticon insignia. That was something he could do without. Not that he would ever tell anyone, of course, that would probably have him branded as a coward, or, even worse, a traitor, but he couldn't help feeling secretly pleased whenever he was picked for one of these more secretive missions.

This time though, things didn't feel quite as they usually did. He couldn't put his finger on what it was that made him feel this almost eerie unease, but there was a sort of nagging, uncomfortable feeling that persistently refused to go away. Like someone was actually watching him from afar, tracking his every movement.

Well, perhaps it was in fact nothing more than the natural uncomfortableness that automatically came with being on enemy territory, even if he had mostly learned to suppress that feeling by now, whenever it appeared. Not to mention, he _did_ happen to be right outside of Autobot headquarters, and in a moment he would, if all went well, be inside them. He had snuck in there twice in the past on other missions he had been on, so while this wasn't the first time, it certainly wasn't something he would do on a daily basis either.

Nevertheless, he told himself, there was no reason to feel nervous – after all, Soundwave's reports were as good as one hundred percent reliable, and they had shown the Autobots to be out of the base on some mission or another. Granted, there would still be someone left to guard the base – the Autobots weren't _that_ stupid – but keeping his presence unknown to that one mech shouldn't be a problem.

And even if he somehow _did_ get discovered, evading the Autobot guard and making a quick subsequent escape would be easy. He was good at those kinds of things. Not to mention, most likely that small, inexperienced Autobot Bumblebee had been assigned to guard duty. He was too weak to be much, if any, of a threat.

There was simply no need to worry, he told himself yet again, he would carry out his mission and be back at Decepticon headquarters long before the Autobots would have any reason to suspect an intrusion into their base.

Jazz shifted to a more comfortable position while keeping his optics firmly locked on the half-buried spacecraft in front of him. It looked no different from the last time he had paid it a visit; there were no apparent security devices that had been added since then that were detectable from here. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that there weren't any, but if so he'd take care of those once he got close enough. His training in detecting and disabling such mechanisms was quite extensive, as were his detection avoidance skills. He still sometimes pondered if the Autobots had ever found out that someone had been inside that last time he had paid the Ark a visit, but he'd like to think that they hadn't.

And if all went according to plan, they would not find out this time either. The bugging device he had been given to implant would go unnoticed, and would continuously be feeding Megatron useful information about what the Autobots were up to. That was the plan. And he was determined not to fail.

Now, he just needed to find a way to get inside without getting noticed. He scanned the craft and its metal exterior yet again from his crouching position. As impenetrable as the structure might look at first glance, he knew there would somewhere be a way for him to get in. He just wished that that strange feeling telling him that something wasn't just quite right would go away.

Well, whatever the reason for its presence, the feeling would probably disappear once he got inside and had other things to mind. So if he just...

Suddenly, without warning, a foot placed itself firmly on Jazz's back and pushed down, roughly shoving his face into the dirt on the ground. Before he had any time to react, he felt the unmistakable presence of the end of a laser rifle pressing into the back of his skull. He froze.

_Autobots! How was it possible they had detected him, they were supposed to be out on patrol, how could Soundwave have been mistaken, he _never_ was, this wasn't supposed to happen... _

The thoughts were racing around in his processor like overcharged drones as he fought the panic that was welling up inside him as his position became clear to him after the initial shock faded. He had been captured by the Autobots! His worst nightmare coming to life, the one thing he had always feared more than anything else during his missions. And there was no one here to help him; he was utterly and totally alone.

"Don't move, Decepticon," a stern voice commanded. Quite unnecessarily so; Jazz wouldn't have dared to move an inch in his current position. He wondered with rising fear who the Autobot standing above him was; the only Autobot voice he could easily recognize was that of Optimus Prime – what Decepticon wouldn't know _that_ terrifying voice from a mile away – but this one clearly belonged to another mech.

Laser rifle still pressed firmly to Jazz's head, the Autobot that was holding the other end of the weapon pulled out an intercom and flipped it on.

"This is Prowl speaking. I need your help over here, please. Believe it or not, I've encountered a Decepticon sneaking around right outside of our base. From what I can tell, he's alone."

Prowl. So that was the Autobot who had taken him down. Jazz tried to sift through the information he had on this 'Bot, to see if there was anything that might be even slightly useful in his current predicament. As a spy and saboteur, he was more knowledgeable about the who-was-who among the Autobots than most of his fellow Decepticons, who just knew the basics – who was a tough fighter and what weaknesses did they have, and so on. Not that most 'Cons really needed to know much more than that. After all, anything wearing that glaringly red Autobot insignia was an enemy to be shot at; and for many Decepticons that was about as far as they were concerned.

For Jazz, it was different though. Due to his function, he had been given somewhat more background information on the various 'Bots, including their characters and relations to the other Autobots. And Prowl was one of the mechs that he knew more about than he did about most other 'Bots.

Second in command only to Prime, he was an officer who strictly adhered to protocol, something that apparently would annoy even his fellow Autobots at times. Certainly not a mech who would let emotions take precedence over logic and rules. Cold and efficient. Somebody who probably wouldn't think twice about blowing the circuits out of a downed enemy mech, should he deem it to be the most appropriate action. Maybe even...

The transmission crackled a bit, interrupting Jazz from his racing thoughts, and a gruff voice on the other end replied,

"Wha', are you serious, Prowl? A Decepticon here?" the voice growled, sounding surprised and yet disturbingly pleased at the same time. "Ya need my help in takin' him down for ya?"

"No, don't worry, Ironhide, I've got him covered. He's not going anywhere."

"Hmm, if ya say so. I'll be there in a klik."

Jazz, still lying prone and motionless on the ground, stiffened. Ironhide was well known among the Decepticons for his strong dislike – well, his hate – for the opposing faction. Whereas most Autobots were generally seen as wimpy weaklings who desperately clung to their useless Autobot code because they were too coward to follow the way of the Decepticons, the way of the strong, Ironhide was one of the few Autobots that actually commanded some grudging fear and respect even among the Decepticon ranks. They had seen him mercilessly ripping into his enemy in battle too many times not to hold him in some sort of esteem, even if he was a loathed Autobot. Jazz had himself seen Ironhide in action several times and he was glad that he had never had to fight against him face to face.

And he doubted that the mech would act much differently even if his enemy happened to be a defenseless captive. If it had been Ironhide instead of Prowl pointing that rifle at him, Jazz doubted that he would have been much more than a smoldering scrap heap by now.

Whether he would fare much better at Prowl's hands he wasn't sure. Granted, if the Second in Command had wanted to kill him right here, he probably would have done so already. Or perhaps he was just saving Jazz for Ironhide to dispose of, who knew. Judging by the sound of that other 'Bot's voice on the intercom, he would be only too delighted to get a chance to do to Jazz what he would usually do to the Decepticons he encountered on the battlefield.

Jazz suppressed a shiver, and hoped that the tiny motion wouldn't cause Prowl to fire his laser rifle straight through his captive's head. Nothing happened though; the foot and the rifle still pressed him as firmly into the ground as ever.

"Well, well, Prowl, I'll be damned," a voice right behind him suddenly mused. It sounded if possible even more pleased than it had done on the intercom. "So ya really did catch yourself one of those creeps, heh, first I almost thought that ya had mistakenly gotten a'hold of one of our own who surprised ya by coming back earlier than expected. But no, that's definitely a 'Con if I've ever seen one. Looks like that sneaky little saboteur of theirs, eh? Well, ya certainly made a good catch there, Prowl!"

"Yes. Although I must say I'm surprised at the gall of these mechs, sending one of their soldiers right into our territory like this. They really are too cocky for their own good."

"Indeed. Indeed they are," the red mech snorted disdainfully. "And as if it's not enough with us havin' to run into these creeps away from base, now they're runnin' around right outside it as well. Filthy slag heaps, the lot o' them."

A foot prodded Jazz's midsection ungently, as if it was examining a disgusting and repulsive garbage heap.

"Alright, Ironhide," Prowl commanded. "We're taking him into base."

The red 'Bot only gave an affirmative grunt. Jazz guessed that he would have preferred to finish things right on the spot to save themselves the trouble of taking him prisoner.

The foot that had been resting on Jazz's back suddenly lifted and was swiftly replaced by a knee pressing down just as forcefully, if not harder. A hand roughly grabbed his left wrist and painfully twisted it behind his back. A short moment later he heard the clang of metal on metal, and the cold steel of a pair of handcuffs snapped around his wrist, much tighter than he would have liked. Then his right arm was equally painfully twisted around and his other wrist cuffed as well.

Jazz fought the panic that slowly had been making its way up from deep inside of him, from where he had desperately tried to press it back down since the moment when he had found himself pushed flat onto the ground. Now there definitely was no way of escaping. Not that he had had much of a chance before either, but with the handcuffs trapping his arms behind his back and painfully chafing his wrists, the position he was in somehow became so much clearer to him, like he had been slapped in the face. He was a prisoner, a helpless prisoner, and he had no idea what the Autobots were planning on doing to him...

Well, actually, he did have a few ideas, but none that he liked to think about at all.

"Get up, 'Con," came Prowl's brisk order, and Jazz was yanked to his feet, none too gently.

"So Prowl," Ironhide sneered as Jazz was marched towards the base, "I figure this one in particular should be able to tell us quite a bit about what those 'Cons are up to, don't ya think?"

"Considering his function among the Decepticons, he is most certainly in possession of information that would be useful," Prowl answered rather stiffly.

"Yep, he probably just needs a little bit of persuasion, and I'm sure he'll be happy to tell us," Ironhide grinned.

Jazz didn't like the direction their conversation was taking. He was certain he was going to be interrogated – and most likely tortured – but he most definitely didn't want to be reminded of it. It was clear that the sort of "persuasion" Ironhide was talking about wasn't of the friendlier kind.

He made an effort to push those thoughts away. Worrying about what was coming wasn't going to help him, and whatever was coming would be bad enough without him living things through in his processor first.

Prowl didn't reply to Ironhide's comment. _Probably busy thinking up how he's gonna pry the information he wants out of me in the easiest way_, Jazz thought bitterly. He wondered how long he would be able to hold out. If he could just remain strong long enough, Megatron and the others would eventually realize that something had gone wrong and that Jazz wasn't coming back. They would know that there was a possibility that he had been captured and was at the very moment spilling strategic information to the enemy. And since Megatron knew what information Jazz was in possession of, he would be able to take measures to lessen the consequences of it falling into the eager hands of the Autobots.

Jazz tried to console himself with those thoughts, tried to tell himself that even if he did eventually talk, it might not have such horrible implications for the Decepticon cause after all. If only he could hold out long enough, things would be fine.

Not that the Decepticon cause actually seemed like a terribly important thing in his current situation. Perhaps it was more of a reflex that he had even thought of it at all – simply because it was something that had been hammered into his and his fellow Decepticons' minds through Megatron's rousing speeches about their cause and its profound importance. But right now, that cause could do nothing to help him.

They reached the Ark and Prowl led him inside. It felt strange walking into the base as a prisoner. During his previous visits, the whole thing had felt almost like a game, albeit a serious game, with him alone in some sort of huge playground where he was free to explore the place while outwitting whatever intrusion detectors the Autobots had installed. Even if the base looked the same as then, it struck Jazz as so much more menacing now; even if the spaceship was huge, it felt as if the walls were physically closing in on him, further accentuating the fact that he was a prisoner. The quiet hum of Teletraan-1 that he had barely noticed before, now sounded nothing short of ominous.

Prowl led him on, Ironhide following on their backs, gun drawn. They were heading towards an inner part of the ship, one Jazz had never visited before. His imagination was flaring up yet again with mental pictures of whatever tortures they had in store for him. He involuntarily flinched and tried to disengage himself from Prowl, which only earned him a sharp push in the back – courtesy of Ironhide's gun – making him stumble forward ungracefully. He probably would have fallen flat on his face if it hadn't been for Prowl holding his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Don't ya try anything, Decepti-scum, or next time it won't be the end of my gun that I'm using!"

Even though a whole string of retaliatory insults were burning in his vocalizer, Jazz knew better than to put voice to them. He doubted it had been an empty threat, and he was almost surprised that Ironhide hadn't blasted him where he stood instead of just giving him a shove with the gun.

They walked on, and after a while Prowl stopped. Jazz already knew where they were, the icy dread in the pit of his stomach growing as he scanned the area. The holding cell section. On his right side was a long row of cells, all of them empty, of course. The Autobots hadn't managed to take any Decepticons prisoner since their arrival on Earth. Not until now, that was.

Prowl pulled out an access card and held it up towards a sensor in the wall, which bleeped dully. The bars to one of the cells retracted with a clang.

"Get in."

Jazz obeyed, wondering as he gingerly stepped inside if he would ever see anything outside of this cell ever again. Perhaps they wouldn't even bother torturing him, perhaps they would just leave him here to slowly waste away, all alone. Perhaps they would deny him even the smallest energon rations, sending him into stasis lock, and then remove and destroy his personality component and throw out his dead chassis somewhere for his comrades to find. Perhaps they would...

He was taken a bit aback as he felt the handcuffs coming off him with a distinctive click. Prowl had unlocked them, and had now taken to scanning Jazz for any hidden equipment.

Of course, the bugging device he was carrying was quickly found, as were the other items he had on him that were designed to disable various security devices. Not that Jazz had been expecting that they wouldn't be found, but seeing them all removed effectively crushed whatever tiny little spark of hope he had still foolishly entertained of escaping. Now any escape would be next to impossible.

Confident that the captive had been rendered non-threatening, Prowl exited the cell and had the metal bars cover the entrance again. The clang as they closed seemed to Jazz's audio receptors to resound at least ten times louder than when they had opened. The two Autobots then left him without a word, although Ironhide gave him a final sneer as he glanced over his shoulder at the captive on the way out. Then they were gone, and Jazz, all strength suddenly leaving him, collapsed onto the floor, arms hugging his legs and forehead resting on his knees, the very picture of desperate hopelessness.


	2. Chapter 2

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.**__

_**

* * *

**_

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

Prowl was standing in his office, seemingly contemplating the wall in front of him. Truth was that he was far too immersed in his own thoughts to even notice anything about the room surrounding him.

He couldn't say that he enjoyed the situation he found himself in. And it was certainly not how he had imagined that his day would turn out when he had gotten up this morning. Originally, he and Ironhide had been supposed to go with the other Autobots on a routine patrol, but shortly before departure Teletraan-1 had started malfunctioning. Nothing serious; it had soon turned out that all that was needed was some simple, albeit long-winded, repair, but since the computer was so integral to their safety even minor errors were always taken care of immediately. So Prowl and Ironhide had offered to stay behind to fix the problem while the others went on their way.

Prowl was certain that it was no coincidence that Jazz had been outside of their base today. The Decepticons must somehow have gotten word about their upcoming patrol – how, he had no idea – and had decided to take advantage of the situation.

It was pure luck that he had caught Jazz, though. The tactician had just happened to be outside when he had spotted someone from afar, someone whom he had first thought to be Ironhide. But the figure had moved strangely, not with the confident stride he was used to seeing in his comrade, but with a creeping gait combined with a paranoid glancing over his shoulder that was almost worthy of Red Alert. So he had moved closer to investigate.

And the rest was history. Now he was left with the decision of what to do about the situation.

Prowl rubbed his forehead – for what time in a row he didn't know – in an effort both to sort out his thoughts and to get rid of that mildly thumping headache that had settled into his processor. He wished Optimus Prime had been there. But as fate would have it, Prime was away on Cybertron settling some unfinished business and was not expected back anytime soon. And as Second in Command, it was now Prowl who was in charge of the Earth-based Autobots.

The others had returned from their patrol mission not long ago, and he had of course not had any choice but to brief them on the capture of the Decepticon saboteur and his subsequent internment into the holding cell area.

The reaction of the present Autobots had, as expected, been quite tumultuous and emotional.

* * *

"_So you're telling us we actually had a freaking _'Con_ trying to sneak into our headquarters?" somebody yelled, not quite able to believe his audio receptors. _

"_And imagine what might have happened had he succeeded! All the data in Teletraan-1 – our battle plans, strategic information, everything! – could have been downloaded and fallen into the hands of the 'Cons," another one grumbled._

"_Well, the information in Teletraan-1 is heavily coded and surrounded by security walls; I doubt they would have been able to crack them," a calmer, more reasonable voice stated. "I think the possibility of sabotage would be more worrisome." _

"_Or that they could have implanted a bugging device of some sort. Didn't you just say that the 'Con was indeed carrying such a thing, Prowl?" _

"_Yeah, what if he had actually succeeded? Each and every word spoken within the walls of the Ark would have made it straight to Megatron's audio receptors!" _

_A few of the present mechs shifted uncomfortably at the idea; what chance would they stand if the enemy could listen in on their planning and strategy meetings? _

"_More importantly," another mech interjected, "how the slag did the 'Cons know that we were out on patrol today? I bet they wouldn't have sent someone to infiltrate our headquarters if they hadn't known about it." _

_Several nods of approval._

"_Yeah, they're not guessing, these 'Cons. They knew. Only question is how?" _

"_Perhaps we have a security leak somewhere," Cliffjumper grumbled, pointedly turning to look straight at Mirage, who glowered back. _

"_If you have something to say, why don't you just say it out loud, if you dare?" he sneered menacingly at the smaller mech, clenching his fists._

_The red 'Bot took a step forward, not intimidated by the implied threat. "If I _dare_, huh? I'll tell you what I dare, and then..." _

"_Oh, don't start again, Cliffjumper," Ratchet chided as he stepped between the two in an attempt to stave off the unpleasant situation. "I thought we had put all this behind us long ago. Fighting among ourselves will do nothing but make the Decepticons' job easier for them." _

_The words halted the red 'Bot in his tracks. Getting on the medic's bad side tended not to be a very good idea, after all. He settled for a _hmmpf_ and another vicious stare at Mirage. _

"_Indeed, how _did_ those 'Cons know?" The discussion soon went back on track once it was clear that there were no fistfights forthcoming. _

"_And if they knew that, then what _else_ do they know?" _

"_Have they found some new, creative way to spy on what we're doing?" _

"_We're doomed if they have!" _

"_Is our security that bad? Could they really have managed to circumvent it so easily?" _

"_I bet that 'Con knows..." _

_There was silence for a few astroseconds and Prowl could feel his chassis prickle as more and more optics started to throw surreptitious glances his way. As highest in the command chain now that Prime was away, making sure that security was kept tight around base was ultimately his responsibility. Hence, they all expected him to do something to correct the grave problem now that it had been brought into light. And of course, the easiest, most direct way to do that had already been hinted at. _

"_So Prowl, has he been interrogated yet? I'm sure that..." _

"_Yeah, just give me a few kliks alone with that slag heap, and I'll get the answers out of him in less than..." _

"_Oh, so you're saying we should resort to the same methods that the 'Cons are using? I thought we were supposed to be Autobots!" _

"_He's right, we're better than they are. Let's not sink to their level!"_

"_Eh, nothing wrong with some pragmatism. It's not as if – " _

"_That's not – " _

"_You – " _

"_SILENCE". Prowl, although by nature a patient mech, had had enough. The squabbling Autobots quieted, glancing warily at their Second in Command. Cool and controlled, Prowl was usually the last to vent his anger or annoyance openly, and the sudden outburst invariably brought everyone to attention. _

_Prowl steadied himself. He didn't like having to raise his voice like that, but he had to admit that it had been effective. _I guess they didn't expect their emotionless officer with the huge stick up his aft to lose some of that famously even temper of his_, he thought self-depreciatingly. He knew very well what the general view of him among his fellow Autobots was. Most of the time he didn't let it bother him, though. Duty and doing the right thing were more important than being well liked. _

_The Second in Command took a deep breath, hoping he would sound like his normal self again when he spoke. _

"_Everyone, please quiet down. As commander, I will deal with the situation in what I deem to be the best way." What that actually was, he didn't know yet. "Trust me on that." _

_Some of the Autobots mumbled quietly, but none spoke up. Even though some wouldn't have minded saying a few additional words on the whole issue, Prowl was someone that they all had confidence in and respect for, no matter what they might think of him on a more personal level. They would trust him enough to let him handle the situation. _

"_So, if no one has anything else they wish to add, this briefing is over." _

_The group of Autobots surrounding Prowl slowly dissolved, everyone deep into their own thoughts._

_

* * *

_

That briefing hadn't been long ago, but somehow it felt as if an eternity had already passed, with all the thoughts that had been bouncing around in Prowl's head since.

He wished again that Prime had been there. He would have known how to handle the situation. Or even if he hadn't, at least the whole thing wouldn't have been Prowl's responsibility.

He made another attempt to sort out his thoughts. One thing was clear, the captured Decepticon had information that would be useful to the Autobots. What his mission in the Ark had been was no great mystery though; the bugging device that he had carried with him had spoken for itself without any further words being necessary. The more disturbing issue here was, as had been pointed out at the briefing, that Megatron had known that they had been planning on going out on patrol that very day, leaving the Ark almost unguarded. This leaking of information might mean that there was a blatant security breach somewhere, one that could have severe implications if left unattended to.

Invariably, this led to the next logical conclusion: Perhaps Jazz knew how Megatron had obtained this information. And perhaps he didn't. One thing was certain though: if he knew, he would not give the information up willingly. And therein lay what had been giving Prowl a mild headache for a sizeable part of the day – how to go ahead in order to obtain the required information from someone unwilling to share it.

Sure, there were plenty of methods that may or may not work in practice, depending on the mech – coercion, threats, bribes, lies, manipulation, what have you. But he was a tactical officer and had never been trained in the art of interrogation, and neither had any of the other mechs in the Ark. On Cybertron, there had been mechs specifically in charge of questioning captured Decepticons, mechs who knew the best ways to convince somebody to spill the information they had.

But regardless, he had no choice but to make his best try. He had to. The information Jazz might have was _important_. The knowledge weighed heavy on him like it had been a huge slab of iron balancing on his shoulders, pressing him down into the ground. If Megatron had found a way to tap into Teletraan-1 or their security system, it could very well mean that the Autobots on Earth were all doomed. A lot might be at stake, and he was an officer with a duty to act in the best interest of those he commanded. If he did not succeed with this, the safety of everyone in the Ark could be jeopardized.

Prowl paced the length of the room, back and forth, in silent contemplation. He would have to get Jazz to talk, somehow.

Well, perhaps their captive might turn out to be reasonable and decide to willingly offer the information when asked, and the problem would be solved. At least that was what he hoped, regardless of how unlikely the prospect was.

In any case, pacing around in his office wasn't going to help him achieve anything. Glumly, he opened the office door and stepped out.

* * *

Jazz was sitting on the hard floor of the barren holding cell, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He probably looked quite pathetic and nothing like the proud Decepticon warrior he was supposed to be, but he didn't care.

He knew that nobody would be coming for him. No rescue mission would be launched, no breakout attempt on his behalf would be made. It had always been one of Megatron's core sentiments. _If you're stupid or incompetent enough to get yourself captured, you're on our own. _

True, he would be welcomed back into the fold with open arms if he managed an escape on his own, but he did not see how that was possible. While he was indeed an expert at breaking in and out of places, there was not much he could do without his trusty tools, and they had all been taken from him by the Autobot Second in Command.

_Well, perhaps a chance to escape would present itself later_, he tried to comfort himself, albeit with little success. Until then, he just had to put up with the situation and whatever was coming best he could.

Jazz shifted slightly. It was next to impossible to settle into a comfortable position on the floor. And the nervousness that was permeating his very spark wasn't making things better either.

In a way, this waiting was worse than anything his captors could have done to him. Whatever their plans for him were, he had already imagined things that probably were a ten times worse than anything they could think of. He thought of what the Decepticons would have done to a captured Autobot, and quickly shoved the thought away. _Let's not think about that now._

While it was true that the Autobots took every opportunity to flaunt their precious code and the moral superiority they claimed came with it, Jazz didn't expect it to be much more than big words. At the end of the day, an enemy was an enemy no matter what side of the fence you were standing on. And an enemy in possession of vital information would be treated much the same, Decepticon or Autobot.

He tried to figure out what questions the Autobots would be asking him, tried to make up lies that would sound believable. But regardless of how skillfully and convincingly he could lie, of course the Autobots would check up on whatever information he provided, and then come back for the truth, none too happy.

In a weak moment he even went as far as to entertain the thought of just giving the Autobots whatever it was they would be asking for. _No. Unworthy and treacherous thoughts, _he quickly chided himself. At least he had to make an effort to resist, no matter how futile it would prove to be in the end. How would he ever be able to face Megatron again if he just gave in?

_Don't fool yourself, you will never see Megatron, or any other Decepticon, ever again_, a voice inside of him whispered. Not unless the Autobots managed another lucky catch and he got himself a cellmate, which was highly unlikely. The thought pierced through his processor with a painful clarity, jolting him back to brutal reality.

He huddled himself closer. A conversation he had overheard from a couple of fellow Decepticons during guard duty a long time ago started to replay itself in his memory. The two mechs had in graphic detail been discussing what they thought would be the best way to interrogate a hypothetical captured Autobot. Even back then, Jazz had felt uneasy listening to their detailed descriptions and the subsequent snickering and grunts of approval as each of them tried to outdo the other in sheer nastiness. The images had been disturbing then, and they were extremely discomforting now.

_Guess those two mechs never imagined themselves being on the receiving end, did they_, he thought darkly.

He didn't know how much time had passed since his capture; there was no way to tell time in a cell that was devoid of any natural light. But it did feel like he had been waiting in here forever. Perhaps it was a conscious Autobot tactic, having him sit here doing nothing but think, making him more and more worried and afraid with nothing but his own thoughts to accompany him.

If it was indeed a conscious tactic on their part, he had to admit that it was working.

His thoughts started to drift again. What if they believed him to be in possession of information that he wasn't? While he did know a few things that the Autobots were sure to want to get their hands on, Megatron had always been rather careful in regards to who got trusted with what information. Granted, his closest ally, Soundwave, was trusted with almost anything. Sometimes Jazz wondered if Soundwave didn't actually know even more than the Decepticon leader himself did at times. But as for the rest of them, they tended to get informed on a need-to-know basis only.

Perhaps it was simply a precaution from Megatron's side – the fewer the people who knew something, the smaller the chances were that the information would end up with the enemy one way or the other. Or perhaps it was a deliberate tactic to keep his subordinates ignorant, thereby lessening the likelihood of success of any attempts to overthrow his leadership. Or perhaps it was a combination of both. In either case, it had proved quite successful – the only one who ever dared challenge Megatron's position was that overbearing fool Starscream.

He wondered if he should be relieved that he didn't know very much, or worried. On the one hand, the lesser he knew, the lesser there would be for the Autobots to torture out of him. On the other, he knew he would break eventually, telling his captors what they wanted to know, but what if he didn't actually have the information they were asking for? Who knew how far beyond his breaking point they would continue their persuasion tactics?

A shiver ran down his back. Part of him wished that Prowl had just shot him on the spot when he had encountered him outside of the Ark. What point was there in any continued existence when all that awaited him was unspeakable pain at the hands of the Autobots? His fingers were digging into his upper arms, chafing his paint job and the metal under it, but he hardly registered the physical pain in all the mental anguish that seemed to be all his entire world existed of now.

* * *

Prowl was walking through the main room of the Ark, nodding curtly to the 'Bots he passed on the way. Everything looked as normal as ever, the usual everyday activities continuing as they would on any other day. In one end of the room, Wheeljack was working on some sort of apparatus – Primus only knew what it was for – metal spare parts and circuit boards spread out in a wide-radius circle around him. Perhaps the device would turn out to be of use, and perhaps not, there was never any way of knowing with Wheeljack's inventions until they were put to the test and tried out.

A bit away, the friendly banter of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could be heard, as they quibbled over who had been the true victor of some racing competition that they had apparently held between themselves earlier in the day. Across the room, Ratchet was fixing some circuits in another mech's arm, frequent swear words being traded back and forth – as usual – between the medic and his patient.

Taking in the scenes before him, Prowl was acutely aware that these were the very mechs that he, as a commanding officer, was sworn to protect. Their lives and well-being were his responsibility. And seeing to that was more important than anything else. Protecting his comrades and the ideals they were fighting for. Making sure they would all stay alive to see tomorrow by whatever means he had. If he could not even manage these things, then what else was left for him?

With these sentiments uppermost in his processor, he walked on towards his destination, his stride exhibiting a bit more certainty than it had before.


	3. Chapter 3

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically. **

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

Jazz looked up. He had been certain he had heard the floor creak. He was right. Prowl was standing outside of his cell, an access card in his hand. There was a dark look on his face.

Jazz's stomach sank. As long as he had been sitting there waiting for the inevitable, almost wishing that the Autobots would come so it would be over sooner, seeing Prowl looming before him instantly made him wish that the 'Bot would go back to where he had come from and leave him alone.

_Well, at least they didn't send Ironhide_, he thought. It was a small comfort though. Perhaps they would take turns working on him if he didn't give in quick enough, and they were just saving the grumpy 'Bot's interrogation skills for a later session.

The Second in Command entered the cell and shut the bars behind him. Jazz held his breath, not daring to move.

"Jazz." The voice that had spoken his name had an oddly weary tone to it, like its owner hadn't been in recharge for ages. Jazz merely looked at the other mech from where he was sitting on the floor, steeling himself for what was coming.

"I will be frank. You are our prisoner. You also happen to have information we want, and I would suggest that you make it easy on yourself and answer my questions truthfully. Do so, and no harm will come to you."

Jazz snorted. _Yeah, right_. He didn't believe the Second in Command even for a second.

He didn't reply to Prowl's words. More than anything, he wanted to tell the black and white mech a few select words on what he thought about their precious Autobot code, but neither his courage nor his self-preservation instinct allowed him.

"Now, the bugging device you were carrying made it quite clear what your mission here was," Prowl continued, crossing his arms authoritatively in front of him. "What we want to know is how Megatron knew that we were going out on patrol today. It is obvious that your leader must have known, or he wouldn't have risked sending you inside of the Ark."

Well, as he had expected, Prowl's question was something he didn't know the answer to.

When he had been sent on his mission, all that Megatron had told him was that according to Soundwave's report, the Autobots would be out on patrol. How Soundwave had acquired this particular piece of information, the Decepticon leader had made no mention of. Perhaps he didn't actually know himself. Normally, Megatron would trust Soundwave without hesitation, and if Soundwave claimed something to be true, that was usually good enough and no further validation would be asked for.

In any case, a mech like him wouldn't be privy to such information. Megatron preferred to keep such to himself and his chosen confidants.

Not that Prowl was likely to ever believe that, though, regardless of what the saboteur said. It wasn't even worth trying. Jazz simply looked to the floor, keeping his silence.

Astroseconds ticked by.

"I asked you a question, 'Con. I expect an answer in return." The words were cold like frozen energon, making chills run down Jazz's back.

No. The tactician wouldn't take an 'I don't know' for an answer.

Well, not that he had anything else to offer.

"I don't know," he mumbled, resenting himself for how small and pathetic his voice sounded.

At the sight of Prowl's narrowing optics, he briefly wondered if he should make something up – what were the chances the Autobots could check on it, after all? – but his processor drew a blank, suddenly incapacitated. Perhaps that was just as well. If there was anything that was likely to enrage that tactician of theirs even more than not getting any answers at all, it would have to be getting answers that were blatant lies.

The tactician took a step closer. Jazz had to make an effort not to recoil. He much preferred having his interrogator standing on a safe distance.

"Why am I getting the feeling you're not telling the truth?" The words were calm enough, but still held a dangerous edge to them. "You're a high-ranking spy and saboteur. Surely Megatron sees fit to share that kind of basic information with you?"

Clearly, the tactician had little clue about on how tightly a leash Megatron ran his faction.

The dark face looming over his seemed all but pleased with his continued silence. "You're hardly in a position to be stubborn here. What do you possibly have to gain by refusing to talk? Cooperate, and this will be so much easier for both of us." He made a pause. "As I'm sure you're aware, there are a lot more... unpleasant ways to ask for information."

There was an implied threat in those words, a silent promise of what was to come, should he fail to offer the requested information, and Jazz felt a shiver pass over his frame. The closeness of the Autobot was disturbing and distracting, and he wanted to move away, but his back was already as far up against the wall as was possible. His fuel pump was racing, feeling as if it was no longer pumping energon but instead pure, unpolluted fear through his systems.

No doubt, Prowl would soon have had enough with the lack of answers, and resort to the other means he had been hinting about. _Painful _means.

He suddenly felt like a wild animal – caged and his back against the wall, with the horrible certainty that there was no way out.

Except one.

He had seen where Prowl's hand had gone when he had put that access card away upon stepping into the cell. If he could knock the tactician out and grab hold of it...

He knew it was the worst idea ever. His processor told him it was stupid, insipid, and it would never succeed in a million years. And yet, raw panic and fear took over, enough to drive him over the edge of desperation.

Without warning, he lunged at the tactician, grabbing hold of the white and black form before him, trying to knock him into the steel bars lining the opposite side of the cell.

Prowl stumbled, clearly unprepared for the assault. But there had not been enough momentum in the attack; the distance between the two mechs had been too short, and the lunge was not nearly as forceful as Jazz had hoped.

His initial advantage of surprise soon disappeared as the other's lightening-fast reflexes kicked in. The tactician took a step aside, causing his opponent to lose footing as he was promptly swung around so that it was instead the saboteur that slammed into the bars with a pained groan.

Everything in Jazz's vision seemed to wobble for a brief moment, but he quickly collected himself and aimed a punch for the gray faceplates in front of him.

The tactician deflected it, and answered with a punch of his own that had stars dance before Jazz's visored optics.

_Slag._

He couldn't afford to lose this fight. He'd be dead if he did, or at least close to it.

Desperately, he tried to shift his weight to bring the other out of balance, but Prowl was stronger than him and countered the move, forcefully slamming Jazz into the bars yet again.

The saboteur squirmed, but refused to give up. He tried to headbutt the other, but only got a set of knuckles to his face for his efforts.

He lodged one of his legs behind the tactician and pushed with all his might. This time, his efforts met with success and Prowl lost his balance, dragging the other mech with him to the floor where they continued to grapple.

Jazz fought with all he had. He punched and kicked, twisted and squirmed. But his opponent was stronger, more skillful, and most of Jazz's blows met with nothing but thin air. Another hard fist slammed into his face, making his head crash painfully into the hard floor. The world spun around him, making it impossible for a few astroseconds to tell what was up or down.

Prowl wasn't late to take advantage. Before Jazz could fight back or offer any further resistance, he found himself roughly showed onto his stomach, and a knee pressed into his back. Prowl was perched on top of him, having twisted Jazz's right arm into a very painful grip behind his back.

"Move even an inch, and I'll dislocate it." The words were cold and hard, enough to make the energon in Jazz's fuel lines freeze into solid ice, fear clenching his throat between its cruel fingers.

He had betted everything, and he had lost. All fight draining away from him like water from a sieve, he let his head fall to the floor that was spattered with his own energon, panting heavily, thoroughly regretting everything.

He hadn't really noticed it until now, but he hurt all over. So bad. He wasn't even sure he would have been able to move, had Prowl not been holding him down.

"Now, that... was _stupid_," the tactician growled somewhere above him, tightening the grip on his arm.

Yeah, as if he didn't already know. Hadn't already known beforehand.

He waited silently for Prowl to make that final twist that would rip his arm right out of its socket, but it didn't come. Instead, the heavy weight on him suddenly lifted, and the tactician stood up.

"Now, as tempting as it _would _be leaving you like this, I will have our medic take a look at you."

Prowl looked at the mech at his feet for a few astroseconds before he exited the cell, leaving Jazz alone in his world of pain and anguish, on the verge of off-lining.

* * *

Prowl was back in his office again, his fingers drumming absent-mindedly against the desk. This interrogation attempt had obviously not been one of his most successful endeavors, to put it mildly.

He rubbed a sore cheek. Jazz's punches were anything but weak, he had to admit.

But as angry as he was with Jazz, he was even angrier with himself. Because he realized what it was that had made Jazz snap, that had made him commit such a desperate act that he must have known from the very start was bound to fail. Even if he would have managed to knock the tactician out and escape the cell, he would never have made it out of the Ark. With all the other 'Bots milling around the base and the alarm systems they had set up, he would have been recaptured in no time. Jazz was surely aware of that.

What had set off all this had been the implied threat of those "unpleasant means" he had mentioned to his uncooperative captive. Prowl knew all about Decepticon propaganda and what it said about Autobot practices, in particular in regards to enemy prisoners. No doubt, Jazz had been expecting and fearing torture.

And he had capitalized on that.

But his plan had backfired. Instead of making the saboteur talkative and willing to spill whatever information he had, he had turned on his captor, physically attacking him.

He supposed it was his own fault, hinting to Jazz that they would have him tortured if he didn't cooperate.

Silently, he shock his head to himself.

_How unprofessional._

Not that he would actually have gone through with his threats, but that wasn't the point.

Besides, he wasn't even certain whether Jazz had the requested information. Looking back on it, it seemed unlikely that he knew the answer to the question Prowl had asked him, or he would probably have given it – or at least made one up – before resorting to something like this. Particularly so if he believed what Decepticon propaganda claimed; then he wouldn't have dared to pull such a stunt unless it was truly the last way out.

Tiredly, he brought a hand up to massage his aching chevron. Was he only imagining it, or was it really hanging a bit askew?

Grimacing, he couldn't help but notice that there were still some splotches of energon on him, energon that had been spilt during their fight. Mostly from Jazz.

He sighed. What was done was done, and he couldn't change it. At least Ratchet was currently in the holding cell, patching the 'Con up.

He leant back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. I_ wonder how long it will take him to fix Jazz. _There were, when it all came down to it, other things he needed to ask the Decepticon as well.

Not that he would be asking in the same way as last time, of course, and Jazz would most likely refuse to tell him anything, but it was worth a try. Perhaps there were at least some parts of Megatron's plans that could be gleamed from it. While whatever other information Jazz would have was nowhere near as important as the question of where Megatron had obtained the information about the Autobots being away earlier in the day, sometimes even what at first looked like fairly unimportant snippets of information could turn out to be quite useful.

Prowl off-lined his optics for a while, allowing himself to settle down and get some much needed rest before he would continue the interrogation.

* * *

Someone was entering his cell and Jazz flinched. Was it Prowl coming back to continue from where they had left off? The mere thought was enough to send a spasm through his pain receptors. He strained to look up from where he was lying on the floor and caught a glimpse of something white.

"Well, I'll be damned," a voice hovering somewhere above him said. "You and Prowl really got into quite a tussle, didn't you?"

A name seemed to float somewhere in Jazz's processors, but he couldn't quite make it out. Ratz-... Ritch-... no, that wasn't right. Well, maybe it didn't matter.

The unknown mech knelt down beside him, fiddling with some instruments that he had pulled out.

Jazz felt his fear rise again and tried to inch away from the 'Bot. He had a dim recollection that Prowl had said something about a medic before he left, but as far as he knew, the mech could very well have been sent here only to torture him. The instruments that he had spread out in front of him could function as pain-inducing devices just as well as medical equipment. He protested weakly as the medic drew closer, holding some metal contraption in his hand.

"Take it easy, will you," Ratchet scolded, not entirely unkindly. "Unless you want whatever energon still left inside of you on the floor. You're dripping like a broken energon cube."

Jazz hesitantly resigned to his fate. He was too weak to put up any resistance anyway, so he just let the 'Bot do whatever it was he was about to do.

A sheering pain suddenly shot up from his dented shoulder, and with a groan he tried to pull away again.

"Just try to lay still while I'm fixing this. If you're gonna move around like that I just might have to weld you to the floor before I do any further work on you, and neither of us would really like that," the medic said with an audible sigh. Jazz dizzily wondered if he was being serious or not.

Not wanting to find out, the saboteur relaxed somewhat, doing his best to remain still to keep from annoying the medic. It was painful though, whatever it was the 'Bot was doing to him, and the unpleasant smell of burnt and scorched metal penetrated his olfactory sensors. He hoped it would be over soon.

After some further working over, courtesy of Ratchet, most of the pain had subsided. He still felt weak and dizzy, though.

The medic collected his equipment and scanned his work critically.

"Well, I've repaired most of the damage; your self-repair system should take care of the rest. You've leaked quite a bit of energon so I'm leaving a ration here so you can refill." He gestured at a cube next to his right foot. With that, he excited the cell and left.

* * *

Ratchet sighed as he made his way back to medbay to return the medical equipment. As if it wasn't enough having to repair the Autobots after their run-ins with the 'Cons – or after failed scientific experiments, in the case of Wheeljack – but now even prisoners who were supposed to be safely locked away in their cells managed to get themselves injured as well.

He was glad that Prowl had explained what had happened before he went to check on Jazz, or else he wouldn't have known what conclusions to draw. Probably not entirely comfortable ones. Well, regardless of what had prompted this, he hoped there wouldn't be any repeats.

He reached medbay and once inside he started putting the medical equipment he had had with him back in its place. It felt a bit strange as he handled the various tools that the most recent mech they had been used for was a Decepticon, when all other patients that they had worked on so far had been Autobots. _No_, he corrected himself, there had indeed been another instance when he had used them for the benefit of a Decepticon. But that had been long ago.

Shrugging, he put the last tool back, and then headed towards Prowl's office to inform him that Jazz's repairs were finished.


	4. Chapter 4

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically. **

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

Jazz slowly came to. He dizzily shook his head to clear it, wondering how long he had been off-line. He hadn't off-lined voluntarily; it had been an automatic reaction when his self-repair system had started to work in full. Not that the system couldn't work while a mech was online, but since the process was rather costly energy-wise, automatic shutdown often happened when energon levels were low.

At least the pain was mostly gone now, although several parts of him were still a bit sore and tender.

The energon cube that Ratchet – he remembered the Autobot's medic's name now – had left was still lying around on the floor an arm's length away from him. He grabbed the cube and drank its contents greedily, relaxing as the cool liquid spread into his system. It was the best feeling he had had so far since his capture. Well, it was the _only_ good feeling he had had.

He labouriously pulled himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the wall for support. Why had they even bothered repairing him in the first place? To make sure he wouldn't go into stasis-lock when Prowl came back to continue his interrogation from where they had left off? Only this time, he doubted that even providing the requested information would be enough to save himself. The tactician probably had a few things planned for him in reprisal for Jazz's failed little stunt.

_Primus, how could he have been so stupid, digging his own grave like that? As if he wasn't in enough trouble already, being a prisoner of an enemy who wanted information he didn't even have. _

He shuddered at the distressing thoughts. Trying as best as he could to stave them off, at long last he managed to doze off where he was sitting, going halfway into recharge.

And he was woken up by the sound of a visitor entering his cell. Jazz on-lined his optics to see who the 'Bot was.

Prowl.

Oh slag. He was really in for it now.

Survival instincts kicking in, Jazz scooted away from him, backing into a corner. He'd be lucky if the tactician didn't just kill him on the spot.

Prowl didn't move any closer. As much as he hated to admit it, the all-too evident fear on Jazz's face was quite disturbing. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever seen a mech so afraid of him.

No wonder, though. Attacking one's captor wasn't normally the best way to go around staying alive and healthy.

He sighed. He had to talk to Jazz, to see if he could get anything useful out of him. But it wasn't going to happen as long as the 'Con kept looking at him like he was a creature that had just stepped out of his worst nightmare. He would have to convince the other of his honest intentions in order to calm him down enough to talk to him.

"Jazz." The Decepticon seemed to shrink further into the corner as he heard his name spoken out loud. "I will make one thing clear here. As Autobots, we do not condone torture, regardless of what I might have implied before. There are still things I want to ask you, but I will be asking them under civilized forms." He made a short pause. "I _will_ warn you, though – try something similar to your previous stunt again, and I will have you chained to the wall. Have I made myself clear?"

Jazz simply nodded, not really trusting his voice. Was the Autobot being honest, or was this just another interrogation tactic? Well, all he could do was wait and see and hope for the best. At least there was no obvious anger or resentment on Prowl's face, despite what had transpired last time between them. Instead, the tactician sported a neutral, albeit rather stiff look, and Jazz allowed himself to relax a little. Perhaps the other mech was actually being sincere.

"Well then," Prowl acknowledged. While he could see that Jazz was still wary of him – and who could blame him – at least the panic-stricken expression was gone now. _Then we can get started._

"So," Prowl said rather nonchalantly as if he were talking to someone he had just met in a bar and not a prisoner in a holding cell. "I suppose you didn't expect yourself to get captured when you were sent on this mission, did you?"

Jazz hesitated. It was a rather odd question to start an interrogation with – the answer was already quite obvious, and there was nothing important that the Autobot could gleam from his answer, as far as he could see. But he had nothing to lose by answer it truthfully, strange as the question may be. Perhaps Prowl just wanted to rub it in that Jazz had messed up, if not out of sheer glee than at least with the purpose of lowering his captive's confidence and whatever psychological defenses he had left.

"No... I didn't," he finally admitted, reluctantly. It did sting having to acknowledge his failure in front of an Autobot.

Prowl walked up and leaned against the bars of the cell, striking a somewhat arrogant pose. "But you ended up inside of the Ark anyway, even if it wasn't in quite the same way you had expected. Regardless though, I very much doubt that you would have made it past our security system should we not have not caught you earlier. As you might have noticed when we brought you in, there is a beta-wave vibration sensor rigged to the floor in the main room. You would have set that one off the moment you stepped inside."

Jazz shrugged. "Yes, but considering the way you had it rigged, it wouldn't have been awfully difficult to circumvent the connection with a phi phaser." He felt a bit braver and more confident now that the conversation had turned to something that he was an expert on.

And it was a well-known fact that phi phasers could easily disrupt beta-wave sensors, if you knew how to handle them, so it wasn't as if he was telling the Autobots anything they couldn't have already known. All security devices and detectors had their weaknesses. And he didn't want Prowl to think that he wouldn't have been able to beat theirs, had he been given the chance to.

Prowl smiled inwardly. The beta-wave vibration sensor that they were talking about had actually been replaced by a different sensor altogether a few months ago. And yet Jazz referred to it like he had actually seen it. It confirmed the suspicions that Prowl had had for quite some time: Jazz had been inside the Ark before. Of course, while being led into the base as a prisoner, Jazz obviously must have had other things on his mind than how the security system was set up, so it was hardly going out on a limb betting that he hadn't noticed that the sensor in question had been replaced.

Prowl felt his inward grin grow a little wider. This was almost as easy as stealing energon from a deactivated drone. Contrary to what Prowl had thought at first, it was becoming pretty evident that Megatron hadn't given his soldiers any training on how to resist the more refined types of interrogation techniques. But considering the ways in which Decepticons would interrogate their own prisoners, Megatron was perhaps not even aware that there were more cunning ways to get the information you wanted, if you only had a bit of patience. By carefully steering the conversation in the right direction and framing his questions in the right way, he might even get more information out of Jazz than he could using more straightforward techniques.

Prowl studied the Decepticon. Playing this game might even be an interesting challenge, in some way. "Is that so? Well, if you're so sure about that, then I would figure that... "

* * *

Jazz was feeling in a somewhat better mood than before. The conversation Prowl had had with him had indeed been a long one, but he had never resorted to any violence or even threats of violence. It was better than he had expected. A lot better.

It had not even felt much like an interrogation, even if Prowl had asked him questions about subjects that Jazz would rather not talk about at all in the presence of an Autobot for fear of accidentally giving away important information. But even when he had tried to avoid the subject at hand, Prowl had often not really pressed on, merely leading the conversation on in a somewhat different direction.

Somehow, Jazz still had the feeling that Prowl had gotten more out of their conversation than he had shown. He couldn't really put his finger on it though. As he sifted through the answers he had given to the Autobot, they seemed innocent and non-specific enough. Surely they couldn't have conveyed anything of importance? It wasn't like he had been sitting there giving away coordinates or talked about Megatron's plans – what little he knew about them – or anything like that.

But the more pressing concern on Jazz's mind as of now was what was going to eventually happen to him. While he was relieved that Prowl didn't seem about to subject him to any of the horrors that Decepticon propaganda had pictured, what would become of him once the Second in Command decided that holding any further conversations like this wasn't leading anywhere? Would they permanently off-line him? Or just keep him here alone in his cell for the rest of his life?

He shuddered. Both alternatives absolutely terrified him. As much as he wanted to remain alive and functional, he was a very social mech and he didn't take well to being alone for long periods of time. And being left here in an Autobot prison cell without the company of even one of his Decepticon comrades – and slag it, without even a fragging _Autobot_ to talk to – would probably have him go insane eventually.

Even though he certainly missed his fellow Decepticons, it wasn't as if he had really had many friends among them. Friends were something that was considered Autobot-ish, the implication being that you were dependent and weak if you needed others to lean on instead of managing by yourself. _Comrades_ was what Decepticons preferred to call each other, a word which was considered to properly stress the military bond shared by those who served in the same army. And that was all the necessary bonding that was needed, anything more than that would tap into emotions that Decepticons were not supposed to have, emotions that were reserved for the much weaker Autobots.

That was the official line at least. And his comrades generally agreed with it, even though there might be a few mechs that did develop what probably could be called friendship – or even more than friendship – among themselves, but it was not something that was admitted to or shown openly.

As for Jazz, his closest comrade – or friend – was Thundercracker. He had always considered the Seeker to be a quite interesting character and had been drawn to him from the very start. Perhaps it was because the other didn't exhibit many of the less desirable traits that were found in most Decepticons – such as excessive pride and the unavoidable bragging that came with it, an unquenchable lust for fighting, and hunger for power.

The Seeker had always come across to Jazz as a very brooding mech, like his processor was frequently occupied with things that none of his comrades would ever consider worthy of notice.

And it was true, Jazz reminisced, Thundercracker had indeed turned out to be thinking about things that none of the other Decepticons were, at least not to his knowledge. It was something that he had only gradually become aware of, during the years that they had spent together – Thundercracker wasn't fully convinced of the righteousness of the Decepticon cause.

Of course, giving voice to a sentiment like that would invariably result in permanent deactivation. So Thundercracker had never said these things out loud, not even to Jazz, but it was still evident from the look in his optics he would get when receiving certain orders from Megatron. Or from the borderline sarcastic comments he would sometimes utter when they were in private. Or from his lack of open enthusiasm when attacking the enemy – all small things in themselves, but together they painted a pretty clear picture of the Seeker.

And sometimes Jazz wondered if Thundercracker didn't actually have a point. But such thoughts were dangerous, so most of the times they had resurfaced he had resolutely showed them back down again. Only a few times had he allowed himself the luxury of indulging in them, dissecting and examining the doubts that refused to go away.

His thoughts drifted back to the day when he had decided to join the Decepticons. It had been before the war had broken out. He had been standing in an audience listening to a speech delivered by Megatron during a time when he was just starting to make a name for himself, before he had become known as the fearsome Decepticon leader everyone knew him as today.

It had been a captivating experience. Megatron had talked about the need to embrace a new future, to leave the everyday drudgery behind and rise to greatness. His followers, the Decepticons, would lead the way into a new, glorious world in which victory would be ascertained. And there was something about the way he had been speaking, something about his manners and self-assuredness that had struck a cord in his audience. The cheering and the applauds and the yells of appreciation had echoed through the streets, while Megatron painted his grandiose picture of what was to come.

Granted, things had not turned out quite the way Megatron had envisaged in that speech or the ones to come. But it was at least a glorious vision, was it not? Something that was worth fighting for, even dying for?

He had certainly been convinced of it, but after all the long years of fighting a seemingly endless war, he wasn't so sure anymore. And sometimes he wondered if the reason for his loyalty didn't have more to do with fear of Megatron than anything else. He tried to take some small comfort in the fact that at least the Decepticon cause didn't promote weakness and mediocrity, like the Autobots did. He always had that sentiment to hold on to, if nothing else.

Then all of a sudden, amidst his wandering thoughts, the light in his cell went out and he found himself sitting in almost total darkness. At first he was confused, not really understanding what was going on, but then things started to dawn on him.

Power failure. That had to be the explanation. And if there was a power failure inside of the Ark, then could it possibly mean... ?

He quickly walked up to the bars and bent down to where they touched the ground. The bars were normally held firmly in place by a strong electromagnetic field, but with the electricity cut out, it might be possible for him to lift the bars and crawl out. He grabbed a couple of them and yanked upwards. To his delight, they retracted a few inches, now that nothing but gravity was holding them in place anymore. They were heavy, but it should be possible to clear enough space under them to slide through. He made another couple of yanks and pushes, and the bars slowly and unevenly moved upwards.

He had to hurry. The power failure was probably not limited to the holding cell area, which meant that the Autobots would have discovered it by now and had already taken to working on getting the power back. This was a one in a million chance to escape, and he had to take it; there was no way that an opportunity like this would ever present itself again. He had to get out before the power came back and the bars would go down again, trapping him on the wrong side, or worse, coming down on him when he was inching his way out under them, effectively crushing him.

The bars creaked as he worked on them and for a moment he was worried that they were stuck, but after some violent and desperate pushing they reluctantly inched upwards again. Once they were high enough above the floor, his leverage got better and his efforts were made easier. Just a little bit more...

And finally, amazingly, there was enough space for a mech of his size to slide under. He bent down and edged under the bars, slowly. It wasn't an easy task; he still had to awkwardly hold the heavy bars up with his arms to prevent them from coming down and crushing him as he inched himself across. For a frightful moment he was certain that his grip was slipping, but he somehow managed to make it out to the other side unscathed, except for a few scratches from the underside of the metal bars scraping against his chassis.

The bars landed with a dull thud, and for a couple of seconds, Jazz just lay there on the floor panting, trying to steady himself. He'd made it!

Well, perhaps _made it_ was a bit of an overstatement; after all, he was still trapped inside of the Ark and had to find his way out one way or the other. But at least he was out of his cell, something that had seemed like an impossible feat just a short moment ago. He had to get going though; seconds were precious and he had no time to waste.

At any moment, someone might be coming to check on the Decepticon prisoner, to make sure that all was as it should be and that he was still safely locked inside his cell. But if he was lucky, the Autobots wouldn't think about that for some time yet. He was certain that despite the power failure, the more critical parts of the spaceship would be connected to some emergency power supply and still function normally, so it wasn't as if the whole Ark would be out of power. However, nobody had considered the holding cell area to be a critical section that needed to be hooked up to that emergency power as well. It was no wonder, though, considering that there had been no Decepticon prisoners here at all after the Ark had crashed on Earth. Jazz was the first and only one.

But it was only a matter of time before the thought would cross someone's mind, before someone would remember that the bars to the cell that held the prisoner would only function properly as long as there was electricity flowing through them. And by that time, he'd better be far away from the holding cell section, and if possible, out of the Ark altogether.

He had no idea what time of the day it was, but if luck was on his side it would be night so that most of the 'Bots would be in recharge, and the only ones up and around would be those working on getting the power back online. If so, he might have a decent chance to get out undetected. If he was not so lucky, it would be in the middle of the day when the Ark would be teeming with Autobots, and then his chances were a lot slimmer. He fervently hoped for the first option.

Since the holding cell section had been left in almost total darkness, he didn't have much of an idea in which direction he should be heading. Well, he did know from which direction he had originally been led in here, but other than that he couldn't remember the exact route they had taken, and now that he could hardly see a thing he doubted he would have been able to follow that way out even if he had remembered it.

In any case, there was nothing to do but keep going. Lingering in here would result in nothing but his recapture. He took a left turn, gingerly taking small steps forward, one hand held out in front of him to prevent himself from walking into any hidden obstacles, the other hand trailing the wall as he walked on.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking around, and occasionally he feared that he was walking around in circles, not having any landmarks to guide him. It was all like a big labyrinth where he could barely see a thing, not to mention actually orientate himself. It frustrated him that he didn't seem to get anywhere, one corridor just led into another, which in turn forked into two. He didn't remember having walked through that many twists and turns as he had been led down here on the day of his capture. Sure there had been a few, but nothing close to this. And the longer he dallied, the smaller his prospects of a successful escape would be.

Another thing that added to his nervousness was the thought of motion detectors and similar installments. As it would appear, everything had been disabled in this section of the Ark when the power was cut, but there might still be a detector around the section exit that was indeed hooked up to the emergency supply and would go off as soon as he stepped past it.

And even if there wasn't one, the power would get switched back on eventually, and then all the Ark's detectors would be working again. If he could just find his way out of this Primus-damned section of the ship, he might be relatively safe. It was sure to be full of various detectors of all sorts, whereas most of the other sections of the Ark were used on a daily basis by the Autobots, and hence would only have their detectors switched on when the 'Bots were out of the base.

Again, he wished that he had had with him the tools that Prowl had relieved him of. Then he could have shown those slagging Autobots. He could have disabled any devices they threw his way. It wasn't as if anything they could make came close to matching the ingenuity of Soundwave's creations that Jazz had practiced on so many times. If only he had had his tools with him. _Or at the very least_, he wished, _if only Prowl had missed just a single one of them during his scan_. But such was not his luck.

He turned another corner, continuing down some other passageway, having half given up hope that it would lead anywhere.

There was suddenly a quiet hum, and a moment later the corridor was flooding with light.

_Slag. _


	5. Chapter 5

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.**__

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

So the Autobots had managed to bring the power back on. The sudden brightness almost blinded his optics at first, and he briefly half off-lined them to give them time to adjust. Then he quickly scanned the corridor, looking for the detectors he was certain had to be there.

He couldn't see any. He knew where to look for such things, knew where they would usually be hidden, but to his relief, there seemed to be none.

Perhaps he was out of the holding area section altogether, even though he had no idea where he was at the moment. That had to be the reason the security was so low. He allowed himself to relax a bit. He had, after all, managed to get this far and, to the best of his knowledge, still remained undetected.

But the power return also had him worried, as much of a relief as it was to finally be able to see his surroundings again. It was not a wild bet that somebody, even though nobody had apparently thought to do so yet, would go to check on the prisoner now that the power was back on. Even if the Autobots were too dim to remember the fact that the holding cell bars would not work without electricity, they still might decide to check up on things, just in case.

He looked around again. _That way_, he decided quickly, hurrying up his pace now that he didn't have to worry about running straight into a wall or some other hard object.

After having made a right-turn, the corridor ended with a somewhat imposing door. Jazz scanned it critically; there was clearly a sensor rigged to it. The moment he would try to open it, an alarm would go off, alerting every 'Bot in the Ark to his whereabouts. Normally, it would have been a simple routine measure to deactivate it, but tool-less as he was, he knew he had no choice but to head back and try to find another way.

He hurried back through the corridor and then turned the other way instead of the one he had originally come from, hoping luck would be more generous there. Then all the energon in his system suddenly froze.

An alarm had gone off. A vicious, screeching wail was filling the area he was standing in, effectively nailing his feet to the ground in terror. Maybe he should have expected it to happen – and deep down he probably had – but actually hearing the sound came as a total shock. He knew that he hadn't set anything off himself – he was too professional not to have discovered whatever detectors and sensors the Autobots had put up – but somebody, maybe Prowl, must have visited his cell to check on things. And then he had alerted his fellow Autobots.

He was deep into it now. Most likely every Autobot within the Ark was at the very moment armed to their teeth and in full search of the escapee. And they had surely activated their entire security system by now, which would show them his position on the Teletraan-1 screen. It wouldn't be long before they reached him.

Panic surged through him, threatening to overtake his systems. When the Autobots found him... well, it didn't take a genius to figure out what they would probably do to him. The only question was whether they would make the process short or drag it out. If it was Ironhide who found him first – and it was not at all unlikely that he would, considering the predictable eagerness with which he was sure to have joined in the search and chase for the escaped Decepticon – it would probably be the latter.

Jazz turned and ran blindly. He had no idea where he was going; he just knew that he couldn't be standing around any longer – that would be a death sentence as certain as anything. He wasn't bothering looking out for detectors anymore; the Autobots already knew his location and setting off another alarm would make no difference. The time for carefulness was long gone.

He reached another door and flung it open. An empty storage area greeted him, but he hardly noticed it; he just continued running towards the door at the other end, hoping it would lead him in the right direction.

But before he could reach it, the door opened. And right before Jazz's optics, in stepped three Autobots, led by none other than Ironhide.

Jazz skidded to a halt, and made to turn and run back to where he had come from, before any of the 'Bots would have the time to fire at him.

"Hold it right there, ya piece of slag!" he heard Ironhide yell behind him, followed by the sound of several laser guns being powered up. Jazz had no intention of obeying the command; it only made him run faster in the desperate hope that he would reach the door looming in front of him before it was too late.

The sharp hiss of a laser shot speeding past him made the energon in his fuel lines run cold, but he continued his sprint for freedom nonetheless, hoping the Autobots would be as lousy shots as they were on the battlefield.

They weren't. The next shot hit him right in the knee joints, and he fell, tumbling ungracefully on the floor. He struggled to get up, but his legs were like numb scrap parts, refusing to obey him. His mind dimly concluded that the rifle must have been set on stun, since he didn't register any pain. Desperately, he tried to crawl forwards, using only his arms since his lower body half was no longer responding, already knowing the futility of any continued efforts, and yet refusing to give up.

"I said, _'hold it'_," an angry voice growled somewhere above him as a pair of red feet came into view. Jazz halted, panting heavily as his fists clenched into tight balls. He'd been so close... He let his forehead rest against the floor, all fight leaving him to make way for weary, mind-crushing resignation.

A foot inched under Jazz's chassis and nonchalantly flipped him over onto his back. An astrosecond later, the barrel of a rifle was pointing into his face.

_So this was the end then_. He resisted the impulse to off-line his optics; at least he would meet his end like a true Decepticon and show the 'Bots that he wasn't afraid of them.

Granted, he was terrified, and as much as he hoped it didn't show, it was probably quite evident to each of the three 'Bots who were surrounding him, weapons at the ready.

"So ya thought ya'd take the opportunity to escape and send us all out chasin' around the Ark for your sorry aft, huh?" the red 'Bot growled. The hand holding his rifle twitched.

As scared as Jazz might be, the certainty that he was just seconds away from getting blasted into eternity no matter what was enough to give him a bit of his courage back. It wasn't as if anything mattered now anyway. He made a grab for the gun, futilely trying to wrest it away from the other mech's grasp.

His efforts were rewarded with a snarl, followed by a foot that stomped down on his chest, effectively pinning him to the ground. The sudden pressure made Jazz wince and he wriggled, but froze when the cold barrel of Ironhide's gun pressed into his forehead, and there was a soft _click_.

"A word of warning, 'Con – this rifle isn't set on _stun_ anymore," the red mech said menacingly as he towered over his hapless captive.

Jazz didn't reply. He just laid on the floor, still and unmoving, wondering if he should be glad that Ironhide hadn't just finished him on the spot or not.

Then the door was flung open once again, and another group of Autobots entered, this time led by Prowl. Ironhide looked up and then nodded towards his commanding officer.

"We got 'im. Can't believe how far the little glitch made it, though..." He looked down on Jazz again, a disdainful sneer on his face.

"Well done, Ironhide," Prowl nodded, approaching the little scene.

"Had to tase him before he'd comply," Ironhide muttered sourly. "I tell ya, Prowl, this one should be kept in chains!"

The Second in Command inspected the unmoving captive before straightening up and issuing orders. "Alright, two of you take the prisoner back to his cell. The rest of you make sure that he hasn't done any damage to the Ark's systems on his way here."

Ironhide along with Beachcomber bent down and grabbed an arm each and pulled Jazz to his feet. Half-dragging the Decepticon between them, seeing as how Jazz was unable to walk properly, they followed Prowl as he exited and led the way towards the holding cell area.

Jazz let himself be dragged along; as demeaning as it was being handled like this, the effect of the stun lingered and his legs still refused to obey him. But he didn't care about that. Bitter disappointment was flowing through him in waves; he had been so close and yet he had failed. He had gotten an almost unbelievable chance and he had blown it. Now security would be tightened, making it harder than ever before to escape.

Given that they didn't just off-line him now, of course. Perhaps his escape attempt had been the final straw, and Prowl's patience with his prisoner had run out. As the rush from the escape was wearing off, fear for his immediate future was now coming back in spades. As calm as Prowl seemed on the surface, inside he had to be furious with Jazz's escape attempt and the major disruption it had caused the Ark and its crew. He slumped between the two Autobots, fearfully remembering the propaganda yet again.

After quite a bit of walking, or of being dragged in Jazz's case, they reached the holding cell area. Prowl activated the sensor to the cell's bars, and the two Autobots holding Jazz entered with him, and subsequently dumped their load onto the ground. Prowl followed.

Jazz made an effort to push himself up into a half-sitting position; at least he would face whatever was coming looking his captors straight in the optics instead of crawling on the ground. That was all there was left for him to do in order to try to salvage whatever little pride he still had left.

Ironhide, who was standing right next to him, looked with disdain on the heap on the floor, muttering sourly to himself. "Slaggin' 'Cons are nothing but trouble... fragging' little glitch..."

"Alright, that's enough, Ironhide," Prowl admonished. "You and Beachcomber may leave now."

Not saying another word, the two 'Bots excited the cell, Ironhide somewhat unwillingly and Beachcomber more readily, glad to finally get to leave. The blue 'Bot couldn't help but to feel a bit sorry for the Decepticon. He'd been so close to make it to freedom, but in the end, all his efforts had amounted to nothing. Not that the Autobot normally rooted for the opposite team, but this was different. Sure Jazz was a Decepticon and all, but right now he seemed quite harmless. Pitiful even. He certainly didn't envy the position Jazz was in, the mere thought of getting captured by the Decepticons was enough to make Beachcomber cringe. He hoped Prowl wouldn't be too hard on the 'Con. He hurried his steps, eager to go and find some of his friends to make his uneasy mood lighten up again.

Prowl looked on as Jazz pushed himself up again and then leaned against the wall for support. He was quite angry with the Decepticon prisoner. The unexpected power outage had been bad enough, and they had worked hard to find the problem and resolve it. Wheeljack had even gotten himself electrocuted in the process – granted, it was nothing really serious, but he would remain in medbay for a couple of days before he'd be fully recovered. And amidst all the chaos, Prowl had suddenly remembered – the bars to Jazz's cell only worked as long as the electricity did.

He had hurried to the holding cells, hoping that the same thought hadn't crossed Jazz's mind. A Decepticon loose in the Ark... that would be _bad_. To his dismay, his fears had proved to be true; upon his arrival, Jazz's cell had been gaping as emptily as had the others. He had immediately sounded the alarm, alerting his fellow Autobots to the escape.

Ironhide had of course only been too happy for the opportunity to go on a Decepticon hunt, and it wasn't a surprise that it was his group that had found the escapee first. Prowl had been informed of it through a transmission from Beachcomber, so he had hurried there to make sure that Jazz would still be functional when he arrived. Sure, he had given the order that the prisoner should, if at all possible, be taken alive, but Ironhide was probably the most trigger-happy mech in the Ark, so one never knew with him. Not that he would intentionally go against Prowl's orders, but sometimes eagerness and overzealous-ness had been known to get the better of the red mech.

And he couldn't have the 'Con permanently off-lined. If nothing else, Prowl still had interrogations to carry out with him.

He was quite relieved now that Jazz had been recaptured and was back in his cell. It certainly would not have reflected well on Prowl if the prisoner had escaped. But it had been too close for comfort; if Jazz had known his way around the Ark he might very well have made it out.

Indeed, he would see to it that additional security measures were taken, and the bars to the holding cell would definitely be connected to the emergency power supply, no doubt about it. This would _not_ happen again, what with the entire crew running around fully armed in their own headquarters looking for an escaped Decepticon. What an undignified, ridiculous farce it had been. He glared daggers at Jazz, the cause of all this commotion.

The other mech seemed to shrink as he met with Prowl's optics, and as much as he valiantly tried to appear courageous, his fear was all too obvious. Whatever it was he expected Prowl to do with him, it surely wasn't pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps it wasn't too different from the thoughts that Prowl had himself not-really-seriously entertained in his anger on the way down here. If so, it was no wonder that Jazz was worried.

Still though, as much as the Decepticon's escape had ticked him off, Prowl found that he couldn't really blame him. What would he himself had done if he, Primus forbid, had found himself captured by Decepticons? He would of course have grabbed any chance, however slim, that presented itself with both hands. It was no wonder that Jazz had done the same thing. Anyone would have.

His anger subsided somewhat. He wasn't going to punish the 'Con for his escape attempt. Not this time.

He crouched down before Jazz, coming optics to optics with him. Jazz flinched a little, but otherwise didn't move.

"I will only say this once. This will _not_ happen again. I will let it slide this time, but any similar attempts, and there will be... _consequences_." he said as menacingly as he could. What exactly those consequences entailed he would let Jazz imagine for himself; it would probably prove more effective than anything Prowl could come up with. He wasn't an imaginative mech by any means.

"Is that clear?" he added, having given Jazz enough time to come up with the appropriate mental pictures to match Prowl's words.

Jazz merely nodded. He could still not believe that Prowl would let him off this easily, but it was obvious that he would be in for it if he ever went for a similar stunt again and got caught. But he supposed it didn't matter in the end anyway, it wasn't as if he would ever get another chance with all the additional security that Prowl was now sure to have installed in the Ark.

Prowl seemed satisfied with the non-verbal reply, and he stood up. "I will be back tomorrow to continue our interrogation from where we left off last time. Until then, I hope the futility of any future endeavors of this kind will have become clear to you, if they haven't already."

After Prowl had left, Jazz slumped down on the floor again. Even if the effects from the stun were wearing off, his body was still unpleasantly unresponsive. Not to mention, the energy rush that had put his body into a highly alert state during his escape attempt was now all gone, leaving him empty and drained, apart from the disappointment that flooded his processor. Well, at least Prowl hadn't beaten him into a scrap heap, he thought, trying to see the positive side of things. It could have been so much worse. At least he was still alive and functional, for whatever it was worth in his current position.

Still, the bitter taste of defeat and failure lingered until he finally went into recharge, mercifully relieving him, if only temporarily, from his distressing thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.**__

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

It was early in the afternoon and Prowl was sitting at his desk fully emerged in paperwork. This was perhaps the least exciting part of his job as Second in Command, but he performed this duty as faithfully as he would any other. Since most of the Autobots under his command were nowhere nearly as conscious about these things as he was, it usually left a lot of additional work for him. As much as it annoyed him at times, he had learned to live with it. It was better that he did things properly than that they would only get done half-heartedly, at best. While he did wish that everyone would take this administrative part of their duties as seriously as he did, he knew that that was hoping for too much.

He put the last piece of paper down on the pile that had steadily been growing for the last couple of hours. _There, finally._

Prowl stood up. Time to go see the 'Con again and see what information could be had from him today.

On the way to the holding cells, he almost ran into Beachcomber who came rushing around a corner without really looking first.

"Ops, sorry Prowl, didn't see you!" he apologized before he made to go on his way again, but then he hesitated and turned back to the Second in Command.

"You know, not that I wanna snoop or anything, but I'm just kinda curious... what did you do with that escaped 'Con yesterday?" he said a bit hesitantly, half expecting Prowl to tell him to mind his own business. It wasn't his place to question what a commanding officer decided on doing, but for some reason he had found himself a bit bothered by yesterday's happenings, by the desperate look in the captive's optics... Not that there was anything Beachcomber could do about it, but he still wanted to make sure that the 'Con hadn't been harshly treated.

"I didn't do a thing, Beachcomber. Tempting as it might have been."

His reply seemed to satisfy the other mech, who just nodded and then continued on his way. It surprised Prowl though that Beachcomber had asked; he would never have thought that the 'Bots under his command would show much concern for a Decepticon. But Beachcomber was a very pacifist mech who loathed violence in all forms, so maybe it wasn't that strange that he had asked, especially as he had probably sensed his commanding officer's chagrin at the whole situation.

Still, as angry as Prowl had been, he had never seriously considered actually doing anything to Jazz. True, he had implied it, should the 'Con ever make another escape attempt, but the _consequences_ he had so pointedly referred to had in fact been utterly empty and just something he had said to make Jazz's imagination going enough to prevent him from daring to pull something similar off again.

Autobot as he might be, he was still not above using a little bit of intimidation tactics when necessary.

He reached the holding cell area, and entered Jazz's cell. The other mech didn't even look up when he entered, and as far as the Second in Command could tell, he might very well have remained sitting exactly where Prowl had left him yesterday.

"Just for your information, this section has now been connected to the power emergency supply, and we have added a number of additional sensors and detectors in this area. You might want to remember that before you decide to plan another escape." Prowl bluntly informed him.

Jazz didn't acknowledge this. It hardly came as a surprise and he was too deep into his own misery right now to bother. The failure of yesterday still hung heavy over him, and the hopelessness of his situation had really started to get to him. All he could think about right now was that he would most likely never get out of this cell ever again.

Prowl looked at the unmoving 'Con on the floor and suddenly he felt a small, tiny sting of... pity, was it? He resolutely showed the feeling aside; he had an interrogation to see to and as much as Jazz's situation might be pitiable in itself, it was the result of his having willfully joined up with and fought for the Decepticons. He should be thankful that he was even alive in the first place; if he had been an Autobot who had fallen into Decepticon hands he would have been destroyed a long time ago.

"Your faction isn't much of a rescue attempt organizer, I take it?" His comment wasn't meant to rub it in the 'Con's face that his allies obviously weren't coming for him; it was more an expression of his stunned disbelief that the Decepticons had no problem leaving one of their own in enemy hands without making even the most half-hearted attempt to rescue him. But he supposed he shouldn't be surprised – it was, after all, the Decepticons they were dealing with and those mechs hardly had any concern whatsoever for each other.

Things were certainly different in their own ranks. If an Autobot had been in Jazz's situation, getting him back would have been at the very top of their list of priorities, no doubt about it. Prowl shook his head. Being left at the mercy of your enemy knowing that your comrades weren't going to come for you was unthinkable. Again the sting of pity resurfaced in his processors.

And again, he showed it aside. Pity wasn't going to help him gain any information from the 'Con in front of him.

Jazz didn't say anything; perhaps he thought that Prowl was merely mocking him. Well then, perhaps a different approach was better.

"One thing I've been wondering about: as a member of the Decepticon faction, how come you..."

He was interrupted by a beep from his transmitter. It was Ratchet.

"Hey Prowl, where did you go off to? I thought we were gonna run the analyses for that transmodification program now?"

The transmodification program. He had totally forgotten about that. But Ratchet was right; this was something that had been planned for some time and he should attend to it. Perhaps it was just as well. Jazz was too deep into his own misery stemming from his failed escape attempt to be very talkative right now, so it might be a better idea to come back later when he had gotten over it a bit. If he was simply left alone in his cell for a while, maybe the isolation and lack of company would make him more eager to engage in conversation once he was finally given an opportunity to again.

With that thought, Prowl left the Decepticon and headed towards the Ark's main room where a few of the other Autobots stood gathered around Teletraan-1. Apparently they had already started the process.

"Prowl," Ratchet acknowledged. "Things are looking alright so far; we've encountered a few deviations here and there, but they seem to be pretty much the standard ones. Nothing major yet." He handed the tactician a printout.

Prowl let his optics glance over the numbers and diagrams Ratchet had handed him. No, there didn't seem to be anything serious in there. It might be wise to run an additional check on some parts of the data just make sure, but...

"So Prowl," Ironhide interrupted him in his thoughts, "I sure hope ya've bolted that slimy little 'Con to the floor of his cell to keep him from pullin' anything again."

Prowl sighed inwardly – he probably should have expected Ironhide to ask him about it. But he didn't have to explain himself to the 'Bots he commanded; this was his task to handle.

"I've dealt with the situation as I see fit. That's all I have to say about it."

Ironhide grumbled, clearly not satisfied with the answer, but he knew better than to question his commander. Instead he reluctantly turned back to watching the numbers rolling on the Teletraan-1 screen.

Prowl too turned his attention back to the numbers he had been screening. Or at least he tried to. Ironhide's words had made his thoughts drift back to the only inhabitant of their holding cell section. He wondered if Jazz would be in a comparatively better mood next time he came to talk to him, or if the saboteur would remain in his present half-catatonic state of mind. Then again, Jazz didn't strike him as the kind of mech that would brood too long over a failure. If Prowl just left him to his own for a few days, the 'Con would probably be desperate for some social interaction and hence answer his questions all the more willingly.

Still, he had to admit to himself that somehow the thought of leaving Jazz to sit there all alone for several days in his small, barren cell made him slightly uncomfortable...

Ridiculous. As if he would ever feel sorry for a 'Con over such a minor issue. The mere thought was preposterous. Perhaps he should have Ratchet check that there weren't any glitches in his circuits. In any case, he would soon go see Jazz again. Just a few more days.

* * *

Jazz was sitting leaning against the far cell wall, looking bored. Prowl studied him for a few moments before entering. At least the apathetic, half-catatonic state he had been in last time Prowl had come to see him had at least somewhat dissipated.

The saboteur looked up as the bars to the cell retracted and the black and white Autobot stepped in. There was apprehension and wariness on Jazz's face as his optics fixed on Prowl, though it was mixed with what seemed to be a small amount of relief.

Probably, Jazz had been bored out of his mind during the few days he had been left in solitude, and even a visit from his captor would provide an almost welcome interruption in the monotony. Considering the way Jazz's mouth had run during their first proper interrogation session, the mech was obviously someone who enjoyed social interaction. And taking that away from him was probably as good a way as any to soften him up a bit.

A small, ridiculous pang of guilt stirred in the tactician. It wasn't a very sympathetic thing to do, after all.

He quenched the ludicrous thought. Jazz _was_ a Decepticon, and his own choices had put him into this situation to start with, the tactician reminded himself.

Better to get the interrogation started with instead.

"So, then, I hope you've come to your senses regarding further escape attempts?" He ventured, finding no better natural starting point. His winced at how oddly out of place his voice felt in the quiet solitude of the cell.

Jazz only gave the tactician a brief glance before turning his gaze downwards again, clearly not wanting to discuss the subject. No wonder, considering how the failed almost-escape had to still be lingering over his head. He mumbled something not-quite audible, which might have been a 'yes', might have been a 'no', or something else entirely.

Prowl decided not to press the issue.

"Still no rescue attempt, huh?" he asked instead, contemplating whether he should sit down on the floor as well to be on optics level with the other, or remain standing. He opted for the latter. It seemed more appropriate. He was the interrogator and Jazz the prisoner, after all.

"The Decepticon faction doesn't normally stage rescue attempts," Jazz answered, a note of tiredness in his voice, as if he was trying to explain the most obvious thing in the world to a simpleton.

"Why not?"

"A rescue attempt isn't worth the risks that come with it. And a Decepticon who gets himself captured should be able to make it out by himself in order to rejoin his faction. Everyone needs to be able to manage on their own; our cause will not be served by soldiers who can't take care of themselves."

It sounded like something straight out of a manual. Or wherever. In any case, it was unlikely to be Jazz's own words.

"If everyone had to always rely on nobody but themselves, not even the best of mechs would get very far, would they?" Prowl countered, never ceasing to be amazed by the utter tripe that Decepticon philosophy taught.

Jazz seemed to fidget a bit where he was sitting, as if trying to find something to counter this with.

"Well," he finally said, "it's a way of weeding out those who aren't strong or capable enough. Maybe there are benefits to cooperating no matter what, but I'm sure those are more than offset by teaching mechs to rely on others who will not always be there for them."

Prowl had to admit the saboteur didn't sound entirely convinced. Which was fully understandable, seeing as how it was those ideas that had left him sitting here without his comrades coming for him.

"And besides, it helps you to grow more self-reliant and increases your ability to solve problems independently. If you know that others will always be there to assist, you won't make the same effort as if you..."

Still as talkative, if not more so, Prowl noted with some satisfaction as Jazz continued, probably trying, from the sounds of it, to convince himself as much as Prowl.

Ah well. He decided he should let the conversation move on to somewhere perhaps more fruitful. Maybe he could steer it to get Jazz to hint at what some of Megatron's cronies had been doing the other week skulking around at the ostensibly uninteresting outskirts of a small human settling, perhaps?

"Cooperating sure hasn't hurt us Autobots. Then again, I'm not surprised that Megatron would subscribe to such deluded beliefs. He doesn't seem like the most brilliant, far-planning leader, considering how he..."

* * *

Jazz was _bored_. There was absolutely nothing to do in his cell but think. And it felt as if he had already done more of that than would last him a lifetime.

He missed the Nemesis and his comrades. Not so much for any sentimental attachment, but because he was getting tired of the solitude and isolation. As much as he had disliked some of his fellow Decepticons, at least they provided him with the opportunity to talk. To socialize. To laugh. To have company apart from himself.

He had always thrived on the company of others. Being alone didn't suit him one bit.

For what time in a row he didn't know, he started to count the number of bars lining his cell.

There were still ten of them, no more, no less.

He hated the sight of each individual one. Each cold, hard steel rod, trapping him in his cage, shutting him away from the world outside.

Sighing to himself, he started to hum a Cybertronian tune that had gone out of fashion vorns ago, but he had grown tired of the more recent ones, having already sung them softly to himself to pass the time too many times over. The sound of his voice, though quiet and barely perceptible, amplified eerily in the confined quarters, bouncing between the imposing walls like a flock of frenzied animals.

He didn't like the effect, and stopped. But he liked the deafening silence even less, so he took up his humming again, trying to imagine that he was inside his own quarters back at base, lying on his back in his berth, carefree and at ease.

The fantasy wouldn't quite come to him. The notes sounded different, their frequencies somehow distorted by the unfriendly surroundings. But it didn't matter. He preferred their twisted harmonies over the alternative – the pervasive silence.

He wasn't used to it. In the Nemesis, peace and quiet was unusual. Mechs would talk, fight, argue, make noise. Even when he was alone in his quarters about to slip into recharge, there was rarely total silence. There was always _something_. The barely audible footsteps of whoever was doing guard duty and happened to pass by his room. The angry voices of the Combaticons, whose quarters were next to him, arguing with each other about something or the other. The soft clucking of the surrounding ocean, as it gently rolled against the outer walls of the misplaced spaceship.

Perhaps he had just imagined that last sound. Maybe it had never existed at all. He wasn't sure anymore.

He missed music. He missed the sky. He missed Thundercracker. He even missed Thundercracker's obnoxious wingmates. He missed anything that wasn't this dreary, confining cell.

Resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, he off-lined his optics, hoping recharge would claim him.

* * *

Prowl critically scanned the mech slouching against the far wall of the cell, his dimmed visor a tell-tale sign that he was deep into recharge. Ever since Jazz's little escape attempt, the tactician had taken to regularly check on the prisoner, to make sure that he was still where he should be, safely locked into his cell.

He continued to watch the unmoving mech for a few kliks. This was the first time he had been given a chance to study the captive more closely without him noticing, as Jazz had so far never been in recharge when he came to visit the prisoner, be it just for a quick check-up or to try to get some information out of him.

He made quite a pathetic sight, where he sat huddling himself. It was hard to imagine that this was indeed a member of the feared, merciless Deception army.

His optics took to tracing the drab walls, the lack of anything disrupting the gray monotony. True that the Autobots didn't use physical torture, but perhaps locking someone up with nothing to pass the time was tethering dangerously close on the edge of psychological torture. They had never taken any captives here on Earth, so there was little protocol describing how to deal with such situations.

Perhaps he should bring the prisoner a book file or something.

Shrugging, he walked out of the holding cell area and back to his office.


	7. Chapter 7

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.**

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

"I brought this. You can have it if you want."

He held out the book file to the prisoner, who glanced at it suspiciously, as if he expected it to be poisonous or perhaps explode in his hands when he touched it.

"It's a book file. Might give you something to do in here," the tactician explained to alleviate Jazz's obvious apprehension.

Jazz stared at the data pad in Prowl's hand for a few more astroseconds, and then, slowly, he reached for the offered object, his fingers closing around it with sudden determination. Perhaps he had just imagined it, but it seemed as if Jazz's visor lit up ever so slightly as he eyed the thing in his hands.

And perhaps that was also a figment of his imagination, but wasn't there the smallest of smiles tugging at the saboteur's lips as well?

Well, perhaps not. It was just a book file, after all.

* * *

_A Complete Cybertronian History, Volume Nineteen – Battles in the North_.

Well, it wouldn't have been his choice of book by any means, but it was better than nothing. Much better.

He was surprised to find out that he was actually enjoying it, too. Of course, it was written from Autobot perspective, but perhaps that was what made it all the more interesting. He already knew about some of the events described in the book, but this time they were written from a brand new point of view, which was enticing and thrilling at the same time.

Naturally, these kinds of books were banned among his own faction. Anything that deviated from the truth that the Decepticons ascribed to was forbidden, the possession of such material carrying varying penalties depending on the subject matter. This kind of book file would, of course, have incurred a stiff penalty, considering it dealt with war history.

He had to admit he was intrigued as his optics devoured page after page of what was in reality rather dull descriptions of an otherwise exciting subject. And it was interesting how he had never thought about some things. Not that he held the writings to be any sort of ultimate, unpolluted truth – far from it – but they offered a refreshing outlook on a subject matter that had always been painted in such black and white shadings.

He almost felt sad when it was finished.

Well, he might as well read it again. It wasn't as if he had anything else to occupy himself with in here.

* * *

"Besides, General Ironwill wouldn't have been able to take Polyhex if he hadn't had that Decepticon traitor to help him bring the city down from the inside."

"The surrounding cities were already Autobot-controlled. It would only have been a matter of time before Polyhex would have fallen as well, should the attack not had succeeded," the tactician countered.

How he had ended up in this discussion with the captive, Prowl wasn't sure. But here he was, having to defend the actions of some Autobot general that he was only marginally familiar with. Jazz must have studied the book file closely.

It amazed him how much the other liked to talk. In a way, it almost reminded him of...

_No_. Ridiculous. Jazz was nothing like... _him_. His bondmate had been a kind, warm-sparked mech, not a vicious Decepticon. It was preposterous to even think like that, and he immediately pushed the thought back to the deepest pits of his processor.

Alright then. Today's interrogation session was finished anyway, so he might as well leave and get some work done. Continuing to argue with Jazz over the correct interpretation of the battles of the Northern States under Emirate Zhaerex's rule would lead nowhere, interesting as it might have been.

Seeing the perturbed look on Jazz's face as he turned to leave, he was unable to stop the next words that came out of his vocalizer.

"I'll bring you a new book file next time," he promised, trying to sound casual and not caring about how Jazz's face lit up.

* * *

"Well, both me and Wheeljack already have monitor duty scheduled that day. Suppose we could fit in the weapon inventory check the day after, though."

Prowl looked down into his papers. Getting the upcoming month's shifts sorted out was always a pain in the aft, to say the least. Especially since there were always those who turned out to have other duties planned that they hadn't bothered to report beforehand, and so, Prowl's careful scheduling was ripped to pieces.

Probably, it would be easier just redoing it from scratch rather than trying to move things around. He sighed. Somehow, it always seemed like they were a couple of 'Bots short in order to fill in all of the assignments.

"The inventory check can't wait that long, I'm afraid." Prowl said with as much patience as he could muster. "Can you switch your monitor shift with the twins?"

"I suppose that would work."

"Good," Prowl said with a curt nod, quickly moving on to the next conflict on the schedule. If he could get this done before the joor was finished, it would probably be a new record.

Besides, he needed to write that intel report for their latest recognizance mission. Prime would definitely want to read that when he came back. There was also that unfinished report from yesterday still waiting for him in his office. Not to mention, he had his usual check-up to do on the prisoner. Perhaps he should bring him the next volume of _A Complete Cybertronian History_ this time_. _Or perhaps something else entirely; giving Decepticon prisoners material that dealt with war history might not be wholly appropriate, even though offering their enemies another, less twisted perspective on things probably couldn't hurt. Perhaps something in the fiction department would be better. But then again, Jazz seemed to have liked the book file he had brought last time, so...

"Uh... Prowl?"

The tactician looked up from his schedule to meet with the questioning optics of his officers.

"I was wondering if it would be alright to move the security upgrade a couple of days? That way, we could fit in... "

"I'm sorry," Prowl interrupted, feeling slightly embarrassed for his inattention. "I must have glitched for a moment. Now, as for the security upgrade..."

Primus, could he really be so overworked that he would let his processor slip off like that? Then again, he had worked hard lately. Perhaps he should try to fit in an extra hour of recharge tonight.

* * *

"Oh, by the way." The tactician stopped in his tracks as he was about to leave, and fished around in his subspace pocket. His hand retracted holding a data pad, which he unceremoniously handed over to Jazz. "You might as well have this."

_Whoa, and he had been certain that the tactician had forgotten about it._ Not that Jazz would have said anything about it, though; it was hardly his place to remind his jailor of any previous promises made. He had to admit it was surprisingly... thoughtful for an Autobot.

And really, he knew he shouldn't be accepting something from the enemy that wasn't absolutely necessary for survival, but whoever had made up that rule had probably never been locked into a prison cell with nothing to do, being bored out of their mind.

Trying not to come off as overly eager, Jazz reached for the offered object. As he grabbed the book file, his hand brushed against the tactician's. It almost startled him how... warm... the brief touch felt, in comparison to the coldness of his cell, the floor, and the steel bars.

He could have sworn the other recoiled a little, but perhaps it was just his imagination. In any case, the tactician quickly turned on his heel and walked out of the cell.

"Thanks."

He didn't know if Prowl had heard him or not, but judging by the little twitch in his otherwise so straight posture, maybe he had.

* * *

It was strange how the hand that had brushed against Jazz's still felt like it was burning. It was illogical and irrational, to say the least. Such a quick, light... decisively _unimportant_ touch, and yet his dermal plating was still prickling from it.

Distracted, he rubbed his other hand over the offending area, trying to get rid of the strange feeling. It didn't help.

Well, it seemed like his logical processor had decided to take a day off. That would be the only explanation. It would also explain why he had been so irrational as to offer Jazz the book file without demanding some information in exchange. The saboteur might even have agreed to it, for all he knew. It would have been the logical thing to do. What a tactician worth his name would have done.

And yet, the idea of requesting something in return somehow seemed wrong.

Annoyed at himself, he turned around the corner that led to his office, glad to step inside and get that intel report finished. Perhaps it would take his mind off these illogical other things.

* * *

Jazz was pacing his cell, waiting for Prowl to come around for the next interrogation session. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had found himself almost looking forward to them. He had quickly realized that having someone to talk to, even if it was an Autobot, was vastly better than sitting alone in his cell. So he always participated in the conversations eagerly and freely gave his opinion on whatever subject Prowl brought up, doing his best to delay the inevitable moment when he would be left all alone and miserable again.

Also, he found Prowl to be quite an interesting mech, even though he wanted to admit that even less. Despite being a commanding officer, and highest in the command chain now that Optimus Prime wasn't around, he was the total opposite of Megatron.

While Jazz admired Megatron's leadership abilities and charisma, the Decepticon leader also had certain less admirable traits. Most noteworthy, Megatron had always been quick to anger and to let his emotions get the better of him. Setbacks, even minor ones, were often followed by angry outbursts, not seldom accompanied by more physical expressions of his anger.

Usually it tended to be Starscream who was the victim of these outbursts. As much as Jazz disliked the arrogant and overbearing air commander, even he couldn't sometimes help but feel sorry for Starscream when Megatron pounded into him, regardless of whether the Seeker was at fault for the situation at hand or not. Jazz had sometimes wondered though if Megatron's main reason for violently abusing Starscream or, more rarely, some other mech that had offended him, really was uncontrollable anger as much as it was a way of keeping his underlings in their place. Ruling by fear, to put in simple. Because who wasn't afraid, after having seen Megatron reduce his Second in Command to a crawling and pleading heap on the floor, that next time maybe it would be their turn, if they somehow failed to live up to expectations?

As for Jazz, he had long since gotten used to Megatron's harsh ways of leading his Decepticons. For him, it had become natural to think that that was how a leader behaved. Prowl, on the other hand, seemed to be the total opposite, and that intrigued him.

In a way, Prowl reminded him a little bit about Thundercracker with his brooding demeanor and composed behavior. He had a hard time imagining Prowl ever resorting to physically abusing any of the Autobots under his command. Yet from what he knew of the Autobots, Prowl was highly respected and no one questioned his position as a high-ranking officer. The thought was a bit alien to Jazz, being used to the Decepticon way where rank and respect was at least partly earned and upheld by physically intimidating one's comrades. If you didn't do that, somebody below you would soon challenge you for your position on the ladder.

But Prowl wasn't a mech to unnecessarily resort to violence. Not even towards his Decepticon captive, a fact for which Jazz was very much relieved.

He was surprised at that, though. Could Decepticon propaganda really have been so wrong about the Autobots? Lied so blatantly? Not that he had expected it to be wholly truthful, not by any means, but he couldn't help to wonder what else it had lied about? Those were disturbing questions that led straight onto a track that he had only rarely let his processor follow, since he knew what kind of territory it would tread on and what other questions it would raise.

Not quite willing to go there this time, his optics went to the little pile of book files that was leaning against the wall. He still had a couple of those left to read to pass the time.

It was better than nothing, but still, he would have much preferred it if Prowl had been here to talk to him instead, if only for a little while.

He halted his trail of thought. _What? _

Being locked into this cell was obviously making his processor glitch.

* * *

Prowl had to silently admit to himself that he found his conversation partner quite intriguing. He had used to think that Decepticons were all just a bunch of violent, vicious mechs who had been drawn to the Decepticon cause simply because it appealed to their evil nature. However, having spent a lot of time talking to Jazz, it had become clear that Jazz was not the fanatic 'Con that he had first thought. As twisted as Jazz's perceptions and logic sometimes were, it still seemed as if he wanted to believe that the cause he was fighting for was good, even if that probably wasn't a term he would have used himself to describe it. Perhaps "justified" would have been better.

Interesting was also the fact that while Jazz did feel a certain admiration for Megatron, it was not for the reasons that Prowl would have expected. He had just simply assumed that Megatron's brutality and viciousness was what made him revered among his fellow Decepticons, but Jazz's view seemed to be that these qualities were merely unfortunate, but unavoidable, accessories that came with being a strong leader. Instead it was Megatron's glorious visions of greatness and his resolution in making these come true that appealed to Jazz.

Yes, getting a window into the mind of a Decepticon was indeed an interesting thing. He had never had a conversation anything similar to this with a 'Con before. Normally, his verbal exchanges with members of the other faction only consisted of a trading of threats and insults as they engaged each other in battle.

It had actually been a while since the interrogations had stopped giving much useful information, but despite that he had continued to come here for further conversations with the talkative Decepticon. Perhaps Jazz wasn't a typical representative of his faction, but getting a Decepticon's view on things and understanding how they reasoned was still something that could be useful. That's why he kept coming back to visit the captive mech, engaging him in conversation.

At least, that was what he kept telling himself. Somewhere, though, in the deeper recesses of his processor, there was something else that wanted to resurface. Some tiny voice whispering to him that that was not the only reason. But despite its insistent pounding for attention, Prowl stubbornly refused to let that thought come out, refused to even acknowledge its presence.

Instead, he turned his concentration back to the discussion he was having with his prisoner.

"And what of the slaughter of the neutral city of Klaeth? How could that kind of ruthless massacre ever be justified in the name of Decepticon conquest?"

At this, there was a heavy silence, as Jazz lowered his optics to the floor, avoiding Prowl's gaze. For once, it seemed as if the saboteur didn't have an answer.

_Wouldn't that have been the first time._

Before having time to ponder this any further, Prowl's was disrupted by his internal chronometer, alerting him that his next shift was coming up. He'd better round this off and get going. Or Bumblebee, his partner for the upcoming patrol duty, might suffer a processor crash from the shock of seeing the tactician late for a shift.

"We will continue this later," he said, turning to leave.

"So, Prowl?"

The tactician turned around, surprised. He didn't think Jazz had ever used his name before to address him.

"What's gonna happen to me eventually?" The saboteur had his head tilted slightly, an apprehensive look on his face. "Once your interrogations are finished? Am I going to be permanently off-lined, or what?"

Prowl stared at the saboteur for a while. Probably, Jazz had wanted to ask this for a long time, but having never managed to work up the courage until now. Sometimes there were things that one thought one might be better off not knowing at all.

Perhaps he should have informed Jazz earlier. Prisoner as he might be, it was still his right to know such a thing, wasn't it?

"No," he answered curtly. "We don't off-line prisoners. When Prime gets back, we will arrange for a guard to escort you back to Cybertron through the spacebridge. Once there, you will be taken to a prison camp for captured Deceptions."

Jazz merely nodded in understanding, his facial expression unchanging.

Prowl briefly wondered whether Jazz was relieved or not. Although the prospects of getting sent off to some prison camp were glum, surely it had to be preferable to sitting alone in a cell all day? At least he would be around some of his fellow Decepticons. To someone as sociable as Jazz, that had to count for a lot.

Well, he had a shift about to start. Leaving Jazz to silent contemplation, he exited the cell, trying to focus on the duties that lay ahead.


	8. Chapter 8

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically. **

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

The little yellow car cheerfully drove ahead of Prowl, as if he thought that their pace was too slow and things needed to speed up a bit. The tactician barely took any notice; he was used to Bumblebee's youthful impatience and eagerness.

"Oh, by the way, Prowl, you think we can all go to that car show they've been advertising for when Prime gets back?" the Volkswagen asked, revving his engine slightly.

"Maybe. We'll have to see," came the distracted answer.

_When Prime gets back._

Up until now, the thought hadn't bothered him, but now there was something that nagged him about his leader's eventual return from Cybertron.

Because he knew what it meant – once Prime was back and got to ask Jazz a few questions of his own, they would arrange to have the saboteur sent away.

He knew it wasn't something he should be concerned by – quite the opposite, it would be a load off his shoulder no longer having the responsibility of looking after a prisoner, atop of all his other duties. But somehow, Jazz had become part of his everyday routine, and the idea of suddenly removing that felt distinctively... odd. He had gotten used to all those sessions with the saboteur – listening to him talk about his views on various topics, then in turn defending the Autobots' way of doing things, letting his optics track the tantalizing shape of Jazz's armour as it curved towards...

He swerved.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Bumblebee asked, having noticed his patrol partner's less than optimal steering.

"I-it was nothing," Prowl answered, voice shaking slightly. "Just a... rock."

"Alrighty, just checking!" The little Volkswagen happily sped off again, leaving a smoky cloud of dust in its tracks.

_Just what on Primus' afterburners was he _thinking_?_ It was _highly_ inappropriate, to put it mildly. Even coming onto Prime himself would have been less outrageous than this.

But he knew it, knew what a part of his processor had been occupied with as he had been in Jazz's cell. Not the first few times, of course, but slowly, imperceptibly, it had started to focus on something else entirely, no matter how much he had tried to ignore it or deny it.

As if the acknowledgment was enough to finally unleash the beast from the depths it had been lurking in and allow it free reign, a picture of Jazz started to take shape in his processor. His armour was shining and there was a smile on his face – ironic, considering how precious few times Prowl had seen anything even resembling a smile on that perfect face.

It was wrong. So wrong. He tried to force the slavering beast back into its chains, but it refused to let itself be tethered again, having tasted freedom.

He was a tactical officer. Second in Command. An _Autobot_. How could he feel himself drawn towards a Decepticon? The mere idea was ridiculous, preposterous, outrageous.

And the worst was, it was also true.

As if he could somehow speed away from his thoughts, he raced after Bumblebee, trying to catch up to the little Volkswagen that could now only be hinted at the horizon.

* * *

So he would get sent back to Cybertron and put into some Primus-damned prison camp, would he?

Well, he supposed it was still infinitely better than getting permanently off-lined as he had been fearing. Not that Prowl seemed like someone who would lightly condemn somebody to death, but perhaps his fellow Autobots, Prime included, would have differing opinions regarding how Decepticon prisoners should be dealt with. At least he would have the chance to escape from a place like that, and the opportunities and odds for a successful endeavor would probably be better than in his current situation where he was the only prisoner in an entire base full of Autobots.

Not to mention, regardless of how long his captivity would last, at least he would be surrounded by his comrades in the meantime, while trying to figure out a way to escape. Surely that had to be vastly preferable to sitting in here with only a pile of book files as a barrier between himself and mind-numbing monotony?

Well, that and Prowl's frequent visits.

Somehow, he had grown so used to them that the thought of being without them seemed strange, like a glaring discrepancy that shouldn't be there.

Odd. It wasn't as if he would miss their regular sessions, even if he had been a mech to enjoy routine, right? And what else could there possibly be to miss?

Prowl?

* * *

Prowl sat staring into the wall of his office, optics unseeing.

His former bondmate was long dead, having, like so many others, been killed in the war.

Killed by Decepticons.

And here he was, lusting after none other than a _'Con_? What was wrong with him? Had he no shame? How could he disgrace the memory of his dead bondmate like this?

Still, for all those years that had passed ever since, this was the first time he had ever felt anything resembling what he had felt for _him_ back then.

Perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to recognize the feeling – he had almost forgotten what it was like. That, together with the painful awareness of how inappropriate the entire concept was, had kept him from acknowledging it to himself. But he could deny it no longer.

And the question remained, poking and prodding at him with ungentle fingers – just how could he have fallen for someone like Jazz? A _Decepticon_?

Although, Jazz wasn't like any 'Con Prowl had ever had the misfortune of meeting. As delusional as some of his ideas were, at times he seemed more like an Autobot than a Decepticon, if one went deeper, managed to see behind his faction symbol. And...

He straightened up, trying to get a hold of himself. This was ridiculous. The sooner Prime came back and Jazz got sent back to Cybertron, the better. Then he could continue his normal life, undisturbed by these silly ideas.

Desperate for something else to occupy his mind with, he grabbed hold of a report and frantically started to scan through it, his processor not really registering a word.

* * *

Jazz studied Prowl as the tactician spoke. He hadn't seen the Autobot for a while now, and had almost started to wonder if he had gone away on some mission or the other. Normally, he wouldn't let so much time pass between his visits.

Somehow, he seemed different from his usual self. As if there was something weighing him down or bothering him.

Well, not that it was any of his business. Or that he would ever ask the tactician about it.

Despite that, Prowl's presence was as strong and imposing as ever as he paced around the cell, explaining what was wrong with the Deception take on the desired relations between Cybertronians and other races and planets.

To his dismay, Jazz couldn't help but find himself more or less agreeing with the tactician. He'd been doing that an awful lot lately, even if he hadn't said so out loud.

_How un-Decepticon-ish._

Somehow, the thought bothered him less than it should have. He was more distracted by the other mech that was moving around as he spoke, voice unwavering and decisive.

It was amazing to him how Prowl was a mech of so many contradictions. Passionate about his cause, yet so calm and composed. Strong and powerful, yet so controlled.

So different from his Decepticon comrades.

The tactician gestured with a black hand, and the motion caught Jazz's optics. His gaze followed it as it cut though the air, punctuating a word here, a sentence there. As it finally fell to his side, Jazz's optics continued to trace upwards, over Prowl's arm, his shoulder and torso, reveling in the sight of the lustrous armour, the powerful frame, the perfect shape of the metal plates...

For a moment, he wondered. What would it be like, having those arms around him, wrapped around his own form, pulling him tight...

He stopped short.

The thought was ludicrous. Not to mention, treacherous and a travesty to everything the Decepticon cause stood for.

But his faction leader wasn't here. And neither were any of his comrades. The only one here was Prowl, his aesthetically structured form seeming to grow until it filled Jazz's entire vision.

_Wow._ If the tactician had any idea what was going through his captive's mind, he would probably stomp off and never come back. Or he would laugh. Or get angry. Or snarl in disgust. Or perhaps all of it.

Well, it wasn't as if the tactician would ever find out. Slowly, hoping the other wouldn't notice, Jazz edged towards the end of his cell, trying to put as much distance between himself and Prowl as possible, hoping it would stop his meandering processor.

It didn't.

* * *

The tactician sat at his desk, irritably typing away at a report. He had hoped that deliberately diminishing the frequency of visits to Jazz would have served to dampen the inappropriate thoughts that were haunting his processor, but it hadn't. If anything, the absence from the saboteur had only served to pour even more fuel onto his already blazing fire.

The time had come to put an end to this. He would no longer go see Jazz unless it was absolutely necessary. And then, when Prime came back and the prisoner got sent away, he could resume his normal life and focus on his duties again.

Yes, that was what he would do. Still, there was one final visit he had to make. Recently, they had received intelligence that the Decepticons were building what appeared to be some sort of energy-harvesting device or the other. Perhaps Jazz knew something about that. He needed to check.

Yes, he would go ask about that, and then never come back.

* * *

Jazz leaned against the wall, sighing softly to himself. Despite the total lack of other things to occupy himself with, the pile of book files in front of him no longer held any attraction.

He was thinking about other things. Prowl. The Decepticon cause. How much that had once, so long ago, seemed so black and white, but had now blurred into various shades of gray.

How his entire worldview had been tilted by a particular mech. And in more ways than one.

He couldn't put into words what it was about Prowl that was drawing him in now that he had finally admitted to himself the state of things, but there was something that made his spark flutter whenever the reserved Autobot entered his cell. And he knew that his reaction had nothing to do with fear – it had already been quite a while since he'd stopped fearing the tactician.

Not long ago, he would have laughed if anyone had told him that he would end up falling for an Autobot, and their Second in Command, no less. Even in the Decepticon army, something like that would have been unthinkable. While such feelings were not explicitly prohibited, everyone was well aware of the inadvisability of showing them openly or admit to them. It was common knowledge that they made a mech weak and showed that he was not proper Decepticon material. And yet, here was, unable to stop his processor from trying to conjure up its own pictures of the tactician whenever he wasn't in the cell.

Such a ridiculous notion. It wasn't as if it would – could – ever lead into anything.

He shook his head to himself, as in disbelief of his own silliness. This was inane, insipid, and any variations thereof. Here he was, a Decepticon prisoner, about to get shipped off to some prison camp on Cybertron any day, and he was thinking about his jailor? He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdness and utter impossibility of it all. As if he could ever have Prowl, in any way whatsoever.

Of course, his processor told him gleefully, if he had been an Autobot, things might have been different.

But he wasn't, now was he? And so, he would have no choice but to accept that nothing would ever come out of this.

No, nothing at all.

* * *

"Well, surely it must be obvious by now that what your struggle has achieved so far is nowhere close to what your glorious visions have pictured. Doesn't that suggest that something is wrong with the cause you've chosen to fight for?" Prowl said, unable to stop himself.

Really, he should have known better than to get involved in another debate with Jazz about Decepticon versus Autobot values and ideals. He should simply have asked his questions about the energy-harvesting apparatus and then left.

But instead, he found himself participating, yet again, in another discussion with his prisoner. Indeed, he should have known better.

Jazz knew that the other mech had a valid point – a bit _too_ valid, as it touched upon things he was loath to admit, much as he knew them to be true – but he didn't really want to concede to that in front of the tactician. "Well, perhaps there are better ways of going about trying to make the visions come to life" – Jazz was surprised to find himself actually saying such a thing out loud, suggesting that Megatron's way of doing things might not be optimal. But then again, he had in the last few days said many things to Prowl that he would never have dreamt of saying in front of another Decepticon. Strange, when you thought about it. – "but that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with them as such. Even if we're still far away, we're not gonna get there by sitting around doing nothing. And we probably would have been a lot closer to getting there if..."

He stopped himself mid-sentence. He had been about to say _if it hadn't been for you Autobots_, but he didn't want to provoke Prowl so he left the words unsaid.

Prowl picked up on the gist of the unspoken words anyway as it was quite obvious what Jazz had been about to say. "Yes, if it hadn't been for us Autobots stopping you." he filled in. He took a step towards Jazz, who was standing leaning against the wall. "And as long as there are any of us left, we will continue to oppose you. Even if there is only one single Autobot left, our cause will still remain alive!"

The intensity radiated from the Second in Command as he stepped closer. Jazz wasn't surprised; the one thing that seemed to get the otherwise calm and controlled Autobot at least marginally excited was talking about the Autobot cause and the values he was sworn to protect. That seemed to be what the 'Bot valued more than anything else, even more than his own life. He couldn't help but feel his spark make an odd little jump at the sudden closeness of the other mech. A part of him wanted to instinctively take a step back, while another one wanted to move in the opposite direction. In the end, neither impulse won over, and he remained on the spot, as if his motor functions had suddenly ceased working.

Prowl took a deep breath. There was no point in getting all emotional in front of the Decepticon. It wasn't as if he would really understand the importance of Autobot values anyway. Better to just drop the subject and have the conversation go off in some other direction. And just how had he ended up standing so close to the other mech in the first place?

He tried to take a step back, but something stopped him, as if Jazz had been a powerful magnet halting him in his tracks. Instead, he remained standing, unmoving, optics unable to tear themselves away from the black and white form in front of him.

Time seemed to freeze for a fleeting moment, a moment that seemed like it went on forever. The two just stood there, silent and unmoving, their gazes locked onto each other. The closeness was overwhelming, and Jazz's visored optics were drawing him in as surely as had he been pulled by strong chains. Prowl only stared, mesmerized.

The tactician had no idea how it happened, but as if by their own volition, his fingers suddenly reached out for that smooth cheek in front of him. He didn't mean to touch it, he really didn't, but it was as if his body had acquired a mind of its own, disregarding the intentions of its master. Like a human child that did know better, but still had to reach out and touch that candle flame because the sight of it was far too tantalizing not to.

The metal was warm and pleasantly smooth against his fingertips. Spellbound, he traced them gently over the gray cheek, amazed at how such a simple act could make his entire circuitry tingle.

It was as if his control of his body had been taken away from him, and he had been relegated to merely watching the acts of another being from behind his optics. And he stared in shock and amazement as the mech that was supposed to be him slowly leaned over and placed a kiss on Jazz's mouth.

The kiss was light and hardly more than a meeting of lips, but its warmth and tenderness was nevertheless amazing.

The moment Prowl's lips met with his, Jazz's processor decisively felt as if it was no longer working. _Just what the... ?_ Was Prowl playing with him? Mocking him? Had the tactician somehow sensed his laughable, ridiculous feelings and was now making fun of him?

But it didn't seem in character for the tactician to do such a thing... And the kiss was gentle and felt surprisingly... honest. There was no trace of mockery or ridicule that he could pick up on.

It was strange – for all the secret, inappropriate thoughts that he had entertained in private regarding the tactician, he was at a total loss at how to react or what to do. He had never in a million years expected something like this to happen, and now that it did, he seemed utterly unable to do anything at all. Not to mention, he had never for a moment even considered the possibility that the other mech might have had similar thoughts.

The gentle, almost chaste, kiss was sending shivers up and down Jazz's back. His mind reeled at the unbelievable situation, while his fuel pump was suddenly beating at least twice its normal speed.

It was as if he had somehow slipped into recharge and was having a bizarre dream. That was the only reasonable explanation for what was going on. But Prowl's touches and the kiss they were locked in were definitely real, no doubt about it.

Slowly, Jazz's shocked confusion started to melt away. Bizarre as the whole situation may be, hadn't he been fantasizing about this, laughable as he had thought the idea to be?

Trembling slightly from the sensations that were laying a claim to his body, the saboteur kissed back, and was about to put his arm around the other mech's waist, when Prowl suddenly pushed him away, a horror-struck look on his face. Jazz just stared at him, dumb-founded yet again.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to..." Prowl said backing away, voice shivering. Then without looking back on Jazz or saying another word, he quickly exited the cell.


	9. Chapter 9

**PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically. **

* * *

_**Author's note:**__ This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on. _

_**Warnings: **__Story contains slash. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way._

* * *

Prowl sat with his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his desk. _What the frag was wrong with him?_ He had just totally lost control of himself and tried to force his unwanted attentions onto another mech, before finally managing to stop himself.

The fact that Jazz was a Decepticon didn't matter; even the most vile, ruthless Decepticon deserved better than being treated like that. Not to mention that Jazz was neither vile nor ruthless, Decepticon as he might be.

Prowl groaned. How could he ever forgive himself? How could _Jazz_ ever forgive him? He didn't even register the inherent bizarreness in the fact that he was actually worrying about a Decepticon forgiving him in the first place.

He had abused his position in the worst possible of ways. He could think of no other Autobot that would ever have even considered doing such a thing; even Ironhide and Cliffjumper who hated Decepticons more than most Autobots would have been repulsed, should they have found out about their Second in Command's doings.

There was a knock on the door.

"I've finished that report you asked for, Prowl." Bluestreak. "But I wasn't able to calculate the bi-polar omicron deviations, you see, the photon-calibrating – "

"Later, Bluestreak. I'm busy."

"Alright, I'll be back later then."

Prowl listened to Bluestreak's footsteps growing fainter and fainter as he walked away. True he had asked for that report, but right now he didn't feel like talking to anyone at all. He had self-disgust to wallow in. The report could wait.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day, and the picture of him locked into a kiss with Jazz floated up uninvited. It had felt for a short while as if Jazz had kissed him back, that he had actually returned the physical affection that Prowl had forced upon him...

_Idiot_. Of course Jazz had kissed him back. He hadn't dared to do anything else. As his jailor, Prowl was in a position where he could technically do whatever he pleased with the 'Con without him being able to do anything about it, which he had just so despicably showed. Of course Jazz had been too afraid to do anything else than to pretend to welcome his advances out of fear of what would happen to him if he refused them.

He didn't understand how something like that could have happened, how he could so totally have relinquished control of himself in Jazz's presence. And what was it even about that saboteur that was exerting such an irresistible pull on him in the first place? Enough to make him lose all grip on decorum and common decency?

_Or is it simply because I have gone so long without a mate that I have become desperate enough to jump a Decepticon prisoner?_ Who knew? It had indeed been a long time since his bondmate had died, and he hadn't partaken in these sorts of interactions since. But refraining from them had been his own choice for a number of reasons.

First of all, as a commanding officer he didn't think it was appropriate to have intimate relations among those he commanded. Not all Autobots would be of the same opinion, but it was a common sentiment at least, and Prowl found himself agreeing with it. Such relations could also interfere with a commanding officer's judgment, making him base his decisions on the safety of his partner when there were more weighty issues that should take priority.

And second of all, and a lot more heavily-weighing, was the fact that he was afraid that he would one day lose the mech he had chosen for a mate. War meant casualties, and a great risk that one's bondmate or partner would be killed. It had already happened once, and Prowl wasn't sure he would have the strength to live through such a thing again.

No, it was better to keep one's comrades at an arm length's distance, making sure that nothing deeper had the chance to evolve. Sure it was a lonely way of life, but he had long ago decided that it was an acceptable sacrifice for the Autobot cause, which was more important. He knew that this made the other Autobots generally think of him as cold and uptight, though, even if he had learned to live with it by now.

And out of all the 'Bots he had met since, no one had ever elicited a reaction from him similar to the one Jazz had. Although, just why this particular mech had made him react so strongly, he had no idea. Or why he had done something so illogical and devoid of even the tiniest shred of reason. Even if his feelings should actually have been reciprocated, there was no way anything would ever come out of it. It was preposterous to believe so even for an astrosecond.

Well, regardless, he had to go back to Jazz and apologize properly. Had anyone told him a few days ago that he would apologize to a Decepticon, Prowl would have thought that mech's cerebral circuits to be seriously malfunctioning, but now it seemed like the only natural thing to do.

Whether Jazz would accept his apology was, of course, another matter entirely.

* * *

Jazz was _confused_. There was no way to better describe his current state of mind.

His dermal plating was still tingling from where Prowl had touched him, and he could tell exactly the way those fingers had trailed over his cheek, as vividly as if the traces of them had been acid burns.

He had never expected something like this to happen – a rescue attempt personally led by Megatron blasting a hole in the wall to his cell would have been more likely – but now that it had, he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Prowl had seemed honest enough about his actions at first, but had despite that stopped short, as if suddenly coming to his senses.

Of course, that was obviously what he had been doing – coming around to see the ridiculousness of it all. While he, Jazz, had nothing to lose in his current situation, Prowl was a high-ranking officer, a Second in Command no less. Even his rather tolerant faction would surely condemn such a thing happening between an Autobot and a Decepticon, no matter how brief the encounter. And of course, even more so considering Prowl's position. Why should he risk his career and social standing for a forbidden liaison like this?

Still though... the mere idea that Prowl must have felt some attraction to him in the first place was astonishing. And enough to make his processor spin.

Whatever it was that made the mech so alluring, he wasn't sure – the surprisingly considerate way he had been dealing with his prisoner? His interesting viewpoints and sharp intelligence? The fascinating balance of his composed manners and his passion for his cause? His being the very antithesis of a cause that Jazz had for so long had doubts about, and a refreshing contrast to the things he disliked about his own faction? How he, Autobot as he was, somehow managed to embody those Decepticon traits that Jazz still found admirable, while avoiding being an example of the bad ones? Prowl had visions and determination, he was strong and decisive. He wasn't anything like the weak, cowardly Autobot stereotype that Decepticon propaganda spouted. And still, he lacked that cruel, mean streak that Jazz could regrettably spot in so many of his comrades.

But despite all that, Jazz knew very well that this could never lead to anything. He wasn't an Autobot, and Autobots and Decepticons didn't have relations – the mere thought of a cross-faction liaison was laughable. But still... he had never felt quite something like this, not on this level.

It was such a shame – being on opposite sides of the fence with a mech he felt that way for. No matter how impossible he knew that the notion was and that it would never lead anywhere, he still didn't want to give up on it.

* * *

The bars to Jazz's cell slid open once again and the Autobot Second in Command entered it for the second time that day. The saboteur felt his fuel pump skip a beat – he really had no idea what the tactician was about to do or say. But the look on Prowl's face seemed more brooding than usual though, which could hardly be a good sign.

Prowl approached the other mech, but stopped before he was within arm's reach of the other mech. Just in case, he thought to himself. But this time he would remain in control of himself and not grab on to Jazz like a starving mech would an energon cube.

"Jazz. I came here to apologize for my repulsive behavior earlier. I had no right to do what I did. I honestly don't know what came over me, but it was wrong. Whether you forgive me or not is your choice."

Prowl's words came as a surprise to Jazz. Had the tactician actually thought that he hadn't approved of his advances? He had never even entertained that line of thought; he had simply assumed that the tactician's previous speedy exit had been caused by the shock of coming to his senses and realizing the inappropriateness of the situation.

But how should he clothe the truth into words? Should he even admit that he had wanted it, seeing as how nothing would come out of it anyway? Somehow, admitting his own feelings to his captor seemed terribly, horribly out of place.

Still...

"It's fine, I... " he started, but Prowl interrupted him.

"No, it's not fine. It was an unacceptable thing to do, but I can at least assure you it will not happen again," the tactician said, self-loathing and regret tainting his voice as his hand clenched into a fist.

Perhaps he should have left it at that. Act as if Prowl's feelings were not reciprocated, but still pretend to magnanimously forgive the other for taking liberties with him. It would have been the reasonable, logical thing to do, at least. But perhaps it was the last words out of the tactician's mouth that got to him – _it will not happen again_ – that convinced Jazz otherwise. He knew that he should let it go, but a more stubborn part of him refused to give up.

He really didn't know what to say in a situation like this. Even if he had always had the gift of words, now they stubbornly eluded him. It wasn't as if talking about feelings – or even admitting to them – was a normal, everyday occurrence within his faction. Still, maybe it didn't matter. There might be other, more direct approaches that would be more convincing.

Letting pure instinct take over, Jazz closed the distance between them with a quick step and before Prowl had a chance to react, Jazz's fingers were softly trailing his cheek in an imitation of the tactician's previous actions. His other arm found its way around Prowl's waist, gently pulling him close. If that wouldn't go through to the Second in Command, nothing would.

For a few astroseconds, the two just stood there, still and unmoving. Jazz reveled in the feeling of the other's form against his and the wonderful, alluring closeness. He knew that his actions were void of any semblance of sense or reason, but somehow it didn't seem to matter any longer. Instead, he just lost himself in the moment, and the soft touch of metal against metal.

"Jazz, stop it." Prowl's strained words cut through Jazz's relaxed state of mind, and then a hand reached out to remove the arm encircling the tactician's form.

"You don't have to pretend that you actually want this." Prowl said wearily, like it was somehow a great effort for him to speak. "I can understand why someone in your... position... would think it in their best interest to give such an impression, but I can assure you, you will not be treated disfavourably in any way for not approving of my advances."

Jazz only stared dumbly as the warm presence withdrew from his grasp, taking a step back from him, out of reach. He had thought his little act would have been more than enough to convince the Second in Command of his feelings on the matter, but his efforts had nevertheless been effectively thwarted.

He wanted to protest at this, but no words would leave his vocalizer, which suddenly seemed as if it had been incapacitated.

"I will be back tomorrow." was Prowl's only words before he left, leaving Jazz alone to emptily stare at the bars lining his cell.

* * *

Jazz leaned against the far wall of his cell, tapping his fingers against a knee in silent contemplation.

Well, what had he been expecting? That the tactician would gladly accept his pathetic little display of affection and they would happily live ever after?

As much as he knew that such a thing would never come to fruition, he still could not let go of the thought. What it would be like, having a mech like that for his mate...

_But you're not an Autobot now, are you Jazz? And since you're not, you will never have their Second in Command_, his processor mockingly pointed out.

He tried going off into recharge, but was distracted by the thought of what it would be like running his hand along those sweeping doorwings.

* * *

"Alright Wheeljack, you can have two additional tetra-galvanized circuits boards for your project, but these are the last ones you're getting. You said when you started building that thing that you wouldn't be needing more than five, but you've requested twelve so far already." Prowl said with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Wheeljack's little projects always turned out to require more time, energy and components than originally planned. And those circuit boards were not exactly in abundance in the Ark. Plus he suspected that there were better uses they could be put to, but he kept that thought to himself as to not offend the engineer. A few of his inventions had turned out to be quite useful after all.

"No worries, no worries. These are the last ones I'm gonna need. The project is as good as finished now you know, just doing some minor additions and modifications." Wheeljack assured him.

"Good. Report to me when it's finished. Don't try to start that thing until you've gotten my approval to do so." Due to certain incidents in the past, Prowl did not want any new inventions tried out in the Ark unless appropriate precautions and safety measures had been taken first.

"Sure thing, Prowl!" the engineer replied cheerfully, humming to himself as he walked away.

Prowl wasn't feeling nearly as cheerful though. He should go and check on Jazz. He had been trying to put it off, but he might as well get it over with. Not that he really _had _to go back though. After all, as far as he could tell he had already gotten what information he could out of Jazz and further interaction with him would not aid the Autobot cause. There were other, more pressing matters that were waiting for his attention.

But he knew that he had to go and face Jazz again. Not doing so was pure cowardice, plain and simple.

And so, he headed down to the holding cells, for what time in the row he had no idea. He had lost count of the number of times he had walked this way by now. For some reason the day of Jazz's capture seemed very distant, like something that had taken place years ago. Perhaps it seemed that way because so much had changed since then, since the time when everything was still normal and he could trust himself to always act rationally and logically.

"Hello, Jazz." His own words sounded hollow to him. For a moment he wondered if he should even bother entering the cell or just remain on the other side of the bars that separated them, but he thought better of it.

"I'm just here to check on you. To see if you... need anything."

Surprisingly thoughtful words. Unthinkable just a few weeks ago. Now they somehow seemed appropriate, though.

"I'm fine. There's nothing I need," came the answer, hesitant and uncertain.

"Alright... " Prowl stood still for a while, unsure of what else to say or do, a part of him just wishing to leave, and another wanting nothing more than to remain in the presence of the other mech. But considering what had happened the time before his previous visit, the latter alternative was hardly an option. For both of their sakes. "I'll be heading back then. And for the record, Prime should soon return, so it shouldn't be long until you will get taken back to Cybertron." The tactician turned to leave, morosely wishing there was something else he could have said, but no other words would come to him. It wasn't as if it would have mattered anyway.

At the sight of Prowl's back being turned to him, something within Jazz suddenly snapped.

_No._

He just couldn't have Prowl leave him like this, consequences be damned. Disregarding the obvious danger inherent in a prisoner unexpectedly grabbing hold of his captor while his back was turned, he closed the distance between them and before Prowl had realized what was happening, Jazz's arms were encircling his frame, trapping his arms in the embrace, with his cheek resting on Prowl's back.

Jazz held onto the other like a drowning human would to the only piece of flotation in sight. For all he knew, Prowl might never come back to his cell again, considering the way he had talked about Prime's return. Perhaps this moment would only last a few astroseconds before the tactician would push him away, but it was still infinitely better than nothing.

For a long time, neither of them moved. They just stood there like two life-like statues, frozen into immobility.

"Jazz."

Jazz tensed at first, but the word that Prowl had softly spoken sounded different from anything he had said before. Instead of the usual aloofness, or the self-loathing that had tinged his voice lately, what was left in that one word was a strange tenderness he had yet to hear from the Second in Command.

Prowl turned around to face him, a hand slowly, hesitatingly reaching up to cup the back of his neck. And he had no idea who had initiated it, but suddenly Jazz found his mouth trapped in a gentle kiss. For a moment, the saboteur was afraid to kiss back, worried that the other mech would push him away like he had before, but nothing of the sort happened; instead Prowl just pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Feeling somewhat braver, Jazz slid his hands along the Autobot's side, letting his fingers gently trace the curves of the other's frame. The metal was amazingly soft and smooth against his dermal plating, and he let his hand draw little circles over the armour plates.

Finally, the tactician broke the kiss, his posture tensing.

"Jazz, we shouldn't... this isn't proper..." he murmured, but he didn't sound convinced by his own words.

"No one's stopping us," Jazz whispered into the tactician's audio receptor, surprised by how steady his voice was, considering how his joints felt like they had turned into molten slag.

As if it could help stave off any further objections, Jazz clung on tighter to the other mech, letting a hand caress an opening in the black and white armour. Prowl was right – it was so wrong. And yet, it felt so strangely... right.

Jazz could feel the shift in the other's body as he finally relented and gave in to his forbidden wants. Hands petted his dorsal armour, rather awkwardly at first, but once the tactician realized that no protest were forthcoming, the touches became braver. The saboteur bucked slightly as a finger slid over a sensitive seam, making the circuitry beneath tingle with pleasure.

He nuzzled against the other's neck, and nibbled the cables softly. A noticeable shiver passed through Prowl's entire frame, spurring Jazz to continue his ministrations. He moved upwards, slowly, until he reached Prowl's face, and then sought out his mouth for another kiss.

Prowl answered with a heated passion that surprised Jazz, but the saboteur wasn't complaining. Not at all. Forgetting about the location, his situation, and the fact that his comrades would have been aghast had they seen what was going on, he let himself go in the wonder of the moment, banishing whatever hesitation still lingered to the most peripheral part of his processor. And the small remains of doubt were soon dissolved by the presence of the Autobot, and the sensations that were running up and down his circuitry.

He let a hand rest on Prowl's bumper, and then slipped his thumb over a headlight, marvelling at the contrast of the cool feeling of the glass and the heated metal that surrounded it. Fingers moving downwards, they found the opening between Prowl's bumper and the rest of his torso, and gently slipped inside, searching around for the sensitive wires underneath.

He rolled a cable between his fingers, and couldn't stop himself from keening slightly when Prowl mimicked his actions with a bundle of wires he had found underneath the saboteur's side armour. Jazz could almost have sworn he heard his own circuitry crackle as electricity shot through it at the touch.

Prowl's hands continued to wander over his body, exploring the plating and seams and circuitry. The sensations were amazing – the touches were soft and gentle, and yet they managed to turn his body into an inferno of tingling armour and white-hot cables. And judging by Prowl's shudders and quick breathing, and the almost urgent touches, the tactician's was experiencing similar sensations.

The caresses were sending jolts of excitement through Jazz's circuits, igniting the receptors in his entire body. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. It was almost as if Prowl had been his interfacing partner for years; he seemed to know exactly where his most sensitive spots lay hidden.

The saboteur clung onto the other, pressing their chassis together, letting metal slide against metal. Heated excitement was radiating from Prowl like an aura, enveloping Jazz in its warm hues, sending his pleasure to new heights. To Jazz, this was like a whole new experience. Sure he had interfaced before with a few of his comrades, but that had been nothing like this. Decepticon interfacing wasn't nearly as much about caring for one's partner as it was about taking, taking as much as one could while giving as little as possible back. In comparison, it seemed more like a competition, a struggle, to see who would come out the victor when it was all over. In any case, all those times had been nothing like… _this_.

Was it always like this when the Autobots interfaced? Or was it just like this with Prowl? In the end it didn't matter, as long as he could have Prowl, as long as he could have this wonderful, exhilarating feeling flowing through his circuits, that was all that mattered.

Waves of pleasure surged through Jazz, reaching into his very spark and he gasped, for a brief moment almost oblivious to the other mech moving on top of him. Somehow they had ended up on the floor – he couldn't remember when or how – and the weight of Prowl's body pressing him down only added to the intricate intimacy. Another jolt of electricity made him shiver in ecstasy and he nuzzled Prowl's neck, earning him a moan of pleasure from the tactician.

His sensors were at a state of heightened awareness, every little touch and movement from Prowl reflected within his own being. And still, it was as if the world around him no longer existed and his processor had ceased to function.

He was close to overloading. Even though he tried to hold it off, to draw out the pleasure even more, he couldn't control himself any longer. He gave in to the feeling that was threatening to explode within him, and screamed out as his entire circuitry ignited with pleasure, resonating into his spark. He was vaguely aware that Prowl overloaded just a moment after him.

Kliks ticked by, as the two forms on the floor lay intertwined, neither of them willing or even able to move.

Slowly, not really wanting to, Jazz started to return to his normal state, a pleasant tingle still lingering in his system. Prowl was sprawled at his side, panting, one arm draped over Jazz's chassis. For a long time, they were just lying there, neither speaking a word, only taking in each other's presence.

Jazz looked over at his partner, taking in his facial features. They seemed so relaxed, more relaxed than he had ever thought possible in the otherwise so stiff officer.

"That was... nice, Prowl." The words sounded lame to him before they had even left his mouth. "Nice" was hardly a word fit to describe the experience; it was like calling being thrown into a smelting pool "unpleasant".

Prowl seemed like he was still far away, a small smile on his lips. "Yes, that was indeed... nice." he acknowledged.

They huddled close together, neither of them wanting to let go of the moment they had shared together and coming back to reality again and having to face the bitter reality – that one of them was a prisoner and the other his jailor, and the first was about to get transferred to another planet in the very near future.

Jazz tried to push the thoughts away – it wasn't _fair _that he would be separated from Prowl like this. Just because he wasn't an Autobot…

Apparently, Prowl had been thinking along similar lines. "If only you had been an Autobot, Jazz... I would have bonded with you and kept you as my mate for the rest of my life." There was a sad tinge to his voice now, coming from someone who knew that the beautiful picture presented before him would never be anything more than a taunting chimera.

Jazz shivered. He could hardly believe what the other mech had just said. Prowl would actually agree to bond with him? Could he really have heard correctly?

And those softly spoken words were what made the thought that had been trying to form in the Jazz's processor take its final, treacherous shape.

"You know, Prowl... I can still become an Autobot... It's not impossible."

There. He had said it. Words that had once been unspeakable, even unthinkable. But now, things had changed, and a lot at that.

Prowl stared at him in disbelief, optics wide. "Are you saying you want to defect?" he blurted out, disbelieving.

Jazz shrugged and gave a small smile. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time that someone switched sides, would it? If the rest of your Autobots can accept a former Decepticon into their ranks, then why not?"

"I'll _make _them accept you if I have to." Prowl pulled the other mech closer to him as if trying to ascertain to himself that Jazz wasn't going anywhere.

Jazz relaxed and leaned into he embrace, feeling his receptors starting to fire up again. He could surely go for another round in just a few kliks…

He brought a hand up to the tactician's face and traced his fingers across the cheek, marveling at the softness. Yes, there was no doubt that he would have a difficult time ahead of him, making the Autobots accept an ex-Decepticon like him into their midst. He would have to work hard to earn their trust. And most likely, some of them would never accept him.

_But in the end, it was all worth it. As long as he could have Prowl, it was all worth it._

* * *

_**End note:**__ Storyline is continued in the two sequels "Choices" and "The Red in the Sky Is Ours". _


End file.
